


A Series of Coincidental Mishaps

by zippkat



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe- troll society merged with humans, M/M, Shitty bars and one night stands that turn into not so much one night anythings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zippkat/pseuds/zippkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is she your…?” You try not to blatantly look like you’re scoping him out, and fail. He considers you, and then seems to come to a decision.<br/>“No, we’re just friends,” he says gruffly, looking down. It’s a sore spot, maybe he’s looking for a rebound. Maybe you don’t mind being that rebound if it means you get to bury your hands in that fluffy black hair-<br/>“Well, good,” you say, awkwardly. Something like a smile tugs at his mouth, but he fights it down. His hair is dark and curly, almost hiding two nubby horns. They’re probably the smallest you've ever seen on a troll. His face looks delicate, and his skin looks soft. You want to reach out and see if you’re wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time you see him, he’s in your club all the way to the side, by the bar. You’re spinning your turntables like a pro but it’s not your greatest night. The crowd’s drunk and doesn’t care what sounds you’re spewing.

This troll, short and dark, seems to be the only one even remotely sober. Some girl- his girlfriend? His matesprit? (you’ve never really gotten troll romance)- You hope not regardless- is trying to shove something into his hands but the guy isn’t giving in. He’s in a short sleeved band t-shirt and looks horribly uncomfortable in it, but you admire the way it shows off his arms.

The track slows and you put on a playlist. No one’s paying attention anyway; it’s a Sunday night and turnout is lower than the club’s managers would like. You wander away to grab a beer and possibly scope out the cute guy. You couldn’t exactly see from where you were standing, but for some reason you feel like he’s got a great ass.

“Hey Egbert,” you slide into the bar, greeting the bartender. He beams at you, black hair everywhere and his dumb hipster glasses askew.

“Hi Dave!” John slides you a beer automatically and leans over the bar, his buck teeth clearly showing. “You look really hot tonight, are you okay up there?”

You raise a single eyebrow and take a drink. John laughs; you can feel the eyes of the group on you but you don’t look over. The beer is shitty but it’s all John has left by this point, so you make do.

“I meant sweaty and gross,” John pokes you in the arm, leaning back and grabbing a rag from underneath. He dabs at your hand, which is indeed covered in sweat, and you flip him off with a smirk.

“Just fine,” you tell him, leaning forward. “Who’s the cute troll over there?” You’re very careful not to glance in the group’s direction. John is far less subtle.

“Oh, her name’s Terezi and she’s blind! Also she licked me, if was hilarious,” John almost shouts over the music; it’s not even that loud and you’re sure the group heard him. You grimace.

“I meant the guy,” you say, and he just laughs.

“Oh, you mean the one with fuzzy hair and the great ass?”

“Is it better up close?” You ask, allowing yourself half a grin.

John waggles his eyebrows, a manic glint in his eyes.  

“It is the plushest, like one of Dirk’s puppets, but a thousand times more hot,” he tells you.

“Oh god, John, don’t even go there, that shit isn’t kosher dude,” you suppress a shudder. How well you get along with your brother is directly related to the presence of smuppets. You grew up with them staring at you with their cruel, dead eyes and smooth dong-like noses.

“Whatever, Dave, you totally can’t hit on him.”

“Why not?”

 Then John’s face flickers and someone sets a glass down next to you.

“Yeah, why the hell not?”

It’s the troll.

You fight the need to let your face slam into the bar.

“This is embarrassing,” you tell the ceiling. The troll laughs. “How about we start over?”

“Why the fuck not, maybe this time neither of us will make a bulge-searing fool out of ourselves, but I wouldn’t bet on it.” You turn to him, smothering a laugh of your own.

“You’ve got quite a mouth on you, ….?”

The troll nervously pushes his coarse black hair out of his eyes. “Karkat Vantas,” he says. He’s got snakebites in his lips and he plays with them absently. His irises shine with a bright, mutant red. It’s a little unsettling to look directly into them; almost like seeing a reflection of yourself.

“Dave Strider,” you nod in return.

Karkat makes a face. “What kind of a grubfisting ridiculous name is Strider?”

“I dunno, about as ridiculous as Karkat Vantas, it’s like some moron looked out their window and picked the first two completely unrelated things in sight and strung them into a name,” so much for making a good impression. Karkat’s about as short as his temper apparently, with a mouth foul enough to rival your own, you learn when he calls you a shamefucking assmouth with no sense of cultural sensitivity. You like him already.

“So, Mr. Vant _ass_ , you don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself among these fine specimens of human nature.” A little to your left and back, there’s a couple who seem to be wearing nothing but painted on sequins, and it is not flattering. Karkat shudders. “I can only assume that you’re on a quest to find the shittiest club in existence, and I applaud you for finding it.”

“Thank you, I tried my hardest, I was looking specifically for the ratio of shitty music to shitty crowds with creepy patrons and just couldn’t pass this one up,” he looks like he’s trying very hard to be friendly without quite succeeding. You don’t much care if he doesn’t like your music. The dark rings around his eyes suggest he doesn’t get much sleep, and his hunched shoulders say he doesn’t like people much. You want to see if he’d change if you got him alone, or if he fucks the same angry way he talks. He’s obviously not _that_ antisocial, since he is letting you flirt with him.

You wonder if it would be rude to just ask outright why he’s here when he’d so obviously rather be elsewhere, but he beats you to it.

“It’s her wriggling day tomorrow,” he tells you, jerking a thumb at the troll girl, who is trying to convince John to let her do shots off him. John is patiently trying to explain that this is not that kind of bar. Two other trolls, one dressed in something beautiful you don’t know the name of, and the other wearing what looks to be a pirate costume, are both egging him on.

“Is she your…?” You try not to blatantly look like you’re scoping him out, and fail. He considers you, and then seems to come to a decision.

“No, we’re just friends,” he says gruffly, looking down. It’s a sore spot, maybe he’s looking for a rebound. Maybe you don’t mind being that rebound if it means you get to bury your hands in that fluffy black hair-

“Well, good,” you say, awkwardly. Something like a smile tugs at his mouth, but he fights it down. His hair is dark and curly, almost hiding two nubby horns. They’re probably the smallest you’ve ever seen on a troll. His face looks delicate, and his skin looks soft. You want to reach out and see if you’re wrong.

“Why are you here?” Karkat asks you, suddenly. This one you can answer without making a complete tool of yourself.

“I work here,” you indicate the DJ booth. Karkat raises both eyebrows; it’s horrifically cute.

“Really?” he asks, obviously judging you. You can’t really blame him; the place is a shithole, and the pay is worse, but you get by. Without it, you wouldn’t even have a job. The only reason you have this one is John, who kindly put in a good word for you.

It’s not that you’re bad at keeping jobs; you’ve just had some bad luck recently.

“It’s not so bad most of the time,” you lie, trying to ignore the people all around you. Over at John’s end, the short troll girl is now chugging a beer like it’ll run if she doesn’t get it down fast enough. The fancier troll girl, with short black hair and elegant horns, is laughing so hard jade green tears roll down her cheeks. Miss Pirate seems to be trying to flirt with John while keeping her cleavage in check. To your horror, John seems to be charmed.

In another time, you would’ve intervened for his own good, but two years back your sister drunkenly sat you down and explained that John was perfectly capable of making his own decisions, that codependency was unhealthy and frankly unattractive, and that you should at least try to make more than two friends whom you found over the internet. You also found out that he’d slept with her in the same conversation. Overall, it had been a bad night.

“I’m so sure, there is no other vapid, pan-draining crapheap I’d rather waste my life in,” his arms have loosened slightly, like he’s beginning to relax in your presence.

You grin, about to reply, when a retching sound reaches your ears.

“Oh my god,” Karkat groans, at your side. You follow his line of sight and wince sympathetically. The short troll girl, who turns one year older this day, has just puked into a nearby potted plant; obviously the chugging was too much for her. You have many a time questioned the wisdom of keeping fake plants around, and this is the reason. Green troll makes her way over to you both, barely clutching the bar to keep herself steady.

“Karkat, I think we’re going to go home now, Terezi seems to have-” a particularly loud heave makes her wince. “Well, next time I will try to keep her away from my vodka supply.”

“Good idea,” Karkat grimaces, the tips of two fangs briefly showing. You find yourself wondering how they would feel against your tongue, and force yourself to look away.

The green troll glances toward you, then blushes. “Are you going to come with, or should I arrange to call you tomorrow to make sure you haven’t been murdered?”

“I might hang out a bit longer,” Karkat’s gaze flickers to you and then away. She seems to understand perfectly.

“This place closes in like, ten minutes, anyway,” you add, helpfully.

“Well,” she says, and then makes her way back to the other two girl trolls, not wobbling at all in her heels; you’re impressed.

“Let me buy you a drink,” you suggest. Karkat turns back to you, clearly thinking. Obviously, he isn’t too bothered by what he sees, because he lets you.

“So, what’s a troll like you doing in a place like this,” you ask, doing your best to keep a straight face.

Karkat stares at you for a second, as though trying to discern how serious you are.

“No,” he says, finally, and it takes all your self control not to cackle at the expression on his face. “Never say that again, no matter how not serious you are, that was truly, spongeshittingly, _awful.”_

“You haven’t even seen the worst of it yet,” you grin at him, before wondering what the hell you’re doing, smiling at a stranger like a braindead tool. Your brother would be ashamed.

Karkat’s face scrunches as he frowns at you, fang worrying his bottom lip. He keeps playing with his piercings and it’s just a little bit distracting. No, nope dot jpg, think unsexy thoughts, it’s very possible you will get fired and also lose a chance to see this guy naked if your pants don’t stop trying to throw a fucking party.

“Who says I will?” he challenges. You shrug.

“No one,” you say, taking another sip of your drink. The silence hovers awkwardly for a moment, before he apologizes.

“I don’t really know what the hell I’m doing,” he confesses, studying his claws. They’re filed down to regulation, which you always thought was a bit harsh, but there’s government for you. The new Empress, not much older than you, has done wonders for troll-human relations and claw trimming was one of the compromises. “Embarrassingly enough, I can honestly say that I’ve never done this.”

“Done what?” you ask, playing cool. Your heart has sped up, and you think if he just leaves it might stop. A pair of glutes that round have got to be illegal, you should probably call the cops on him, _hello yes 911 I have an emergency. This hot troll with a criminal ass might ditch me at a shitty bar, please advise._

“This,” he gestures at the room. “Whole, drinking, dancing, and stupid shit _flirting,_ thing.”

“Whoa, you were flirting? Thought we were just passing the hours, you know, admiring my physique, literally the figure of David.” You motion to your face. He laughs at you, like you knew he would, and you feel a little bit better.

“Whatever gets you to sleep at night,” he takes a long gulp of the drink you bought him and almost chokes. You shouldn’t find that endearing, but you do. This whole night seems to be shaping up into a reluctant attraction slug fest. Grimacing, he pushes it away slightly.

“You could get me to sleep at night,” and it’s such a bad line, even for you, that you laugh with him.

You poke fun at each other for a few more minutes, and you finish his drink, before your boss forces you back to the booth to close out.

“I’ll see you soon, maybe,” you say, trying not to hope too much that he sticks around.

“Yeah- uh, will it take you long to, you know,” he asks, staring fixedly at his hands like they might tell him what to say. You need to get close to this absurdly cute troll, pronto, or you might just die.

His face is a little too close to yours, and it’s not your fault that you end up kissing him. His lips are soft, and they move under yours in a way that makes you want to ditch your job and take him right there, against the fucking bar. The kiss is a little awkward- your shades get in the way and his nose crushes up against yours, but you find yourself wanting to do it again. Your boss coughs awkwardly and you just might be out of a job again, so you pull away.

“I’ll be back in five,” you promise, and maybe you run back to the booth, and maybe he laughs at you for being the desperate tool you are, but you’re pretty sure he’ll still be there when you come back.

So after you’ve packed up all your shit and collected your pay from a grumpy boss, you’re a little worried that he’s not around. Your stomach sinks down to your soles and you berate yourself for caring at all. So what, you’re not going to get laid tonight, big deal.

You step outside, where the crowd has quickly dispersed; it’s almost deserted. You spot John walking down to where his car’s parked, and you think about asking for a ride. You heft your duffle bag full of equipment over your shoulder and start to walk after him, before you see Karkat.

He’s leaning against the wall of the club, looking very uncomfortable, and it’s like you just won the lottery. He spots you around the same time you spot him, and you relish the way he relaxes just a tiny bit.

“Hey,” you say, when you’re close enough.

“That was longer than five minutes, I thought you’d ditched me,” he grumbles, kicking at the gravel. You can barely make out a faint blush on his cheek in the lamplight. “Would’ve served me fucking right, too, you know.” His breath mists the air, it’s so cold out.

“Why?” You aren’t trying very hard not to watch him play with his lip piercing.

“I ditched my best friend on _her wriggling day_ to maybe get in some hot human’s pants, what a stellar troll I am,” he huffs. You really don’t know what to say to that, except maybe some stupid ramble, but his comment about ‘getting into some hot human’s pants’ has your brain stuttering a little. You kiss him to avoid saying obviously he’s already a bad person but the sight of you is enough to put the devil in anyone, and also the devil is my dick. When you feel his tongue against yours, you forget how to think for a few seconds _._

You slam him up against the wall outside the club, claiming his mouth. His body is flush against yours; you find out his ass really is as great as it looks, it’s better than you could’ve imagined. You are struck with the desperate need to have this troll in your bed. You push a leg between his knees and he grinds down on it; you try not to wonder just how wet he is already.

His mouth is hot and wet and tastes like shitty beer, and you can’t get enough of him. His legs are pressed against yours and his hands are fisted in your hair before he finally pulls away. His lips are wet and swollen.

“Technically,” he pants, and your face flushes with the knowledge that you kissed him breathless. Fortunately, it’s dark so maybe he won’t notice. “ _Technically,_ this is public fucking indecency.”

You can’t help but snicker. Karkat thumps your shoulder, glaring, and it’s the cutest thing. He’s got deadly sharp fangs less than a foot from your throat, and that shouldn’t be _cute_ but it is.

“You take this somewhere it can be private indecency?” you ask him, hands resting on his hips. You can feel how turned on he is through your jeans; you’ve been with trolls before, you know how they work, although none of them have ever been as warm or as striking as this one. You’re a little tipsy, sure, but you know what you like, and you really like Karkat.

“Only as long as you’re not a serial killer, or if you promise to never make an innuendo that shitty again,” he says, trying not to squirm. His bulge twists against your dick, you felt it; your stomach tightens and you have to pull away to remind yourself to think with your upstairs brain. “Do you have a car, I mean, shit, are you even fit to drive?”

“I haven’t drunk that much, I should be fine. I’ve won Mario Kart when I was more intoxicated than this,” you say, automatically. You don’t quite manage to take your hands all the way off him.

“That is the least reassuring thing I’ve ever heard, and you’ve seen my friends,” he says, not even trying to move away. His hands almost burn against your skin, like he’s got a fever. “What kind of a dunderfucked DJ are you even, that you literally _get shitfaced on the job?_ How desperate does that place have to be? _”_

“I make minimum wage and I have to watch intoxicated troll girls puke onto fake plants,” you remind him, and he grimaces. “I am that kind of dunderfucked DJ.”

“Sorry about that,” he says, and you kiss him again. It’s starting to become a problem for you, kissing him. You want to kiss him all the time, even though it’s freezing and also three o’clock in the morning and there are places you could be that are not so cold that you could feasibly lose small appendages. You use this as an excuse to pull Karkat closer; he doesn’t seem to mind.

“Can you drive?” you ask him, “because it would be really weird to ask John to drive us to my place or something.”

“Just call a fucking taxi, you unadulterated cheapskate,” he punches you in the shoulders. You call a taxi.

You expect the ride back to be awkward, but it’s not. Mostly it’s just trying not to stare at him, or touch him, and failing kind of a lot.

Then you’re at your apartment and wondering if he’s going to ditch you, because there are thousands of stairs and the elevator has been broken since forever.  He doesn’t, but you do stop a few times on the way up, to refresh your memory of his mouth. He kisses you like he’s afraid of what words will spill out of his mouth if he doesn’t. By the time you get your key in the lock and shove open the door to your apartment, his shirt is half off and you’re already kicking off your shoes.

Karkat takes a moment to look around your apartment while he pulls off his own shoes. You’re a little embarrassed; you hadn’t been planning on company and it shows.

“I know it’s a sty,” you start, but Karkat shrugs.

“My place is worse,” he says, and kisses you again. You want to stop, and ask him why he’s doing this. It’s a little obvious he’s not a virgin but it’s been a while; his arms are stiff when he wraps them around your neck. Instead you just pull his shirt the rest of the way off, guiding him toward your bedroom. You dodge the futon where your brother used to sleep before he moved out, and Karkat tosses his shirt over it.

Your room isn’t much better than the rest of the apartment, but Karkat doesn’t seem to care.

“Still think I’m a serial killer?” you ask him, sticking your hands in his back pockets like a cliché motherfucker.

“Like you’re organized enough to be anything other than a shitty DJ,” he tells you, pushing you toward your bed. He looks a little hesitant.

“This okay?” you ask him, and in response he kisses you again; he’s definitely worked out how to shut you up. You pause for a moment to take your own shirt off, barely remembering to set your shades out of harm’s way first.

Karkat falls back onto your bed, jeans unbuttoned but not pulled off. You help him with this, stripping him down to his boxers. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of them, soaked through already. You’re unzipping and stepping out of your own pants in record time. You fall on Karkat like a breaking wave, kissing him again. His hands rake over your arms and back, like he’s trying to feel every inch of you he can reach. You bury your hands in his hair and rub his horns, feeling him flex and writhe beneath you.

Then he stiffens, and you know you’ve done something wrong.

“Karkat,” you freeze, looking at him, hands falling away. The faint light from the streetlamp outside illuminated his face, twisted in confusion. He cups your face in his hands and stares, chewing on his bottom lip. It lasts maybe two seconds.

“Your eyes are fucking creepy,” he says at last, relaxing.

“They’re the same as yours, fuckstain,” you laugh, you’re so relieved. You’ve never been good at personal problems, not even (especially, Rose would say) your own.

“I know,” he says, and grabs your ass. As a change of topic, it was pretty transparent, but you’re not complaining. You push into the touch, kissing his neck at the same time. The startled whine you get out of him makes your dick twitch, and yeah okay you really need to get at his junk, right now. Breaking away, you crawl down the bed until you’re at eye level with his boxers. You glance up to see Karkat watching you, bottom lip between his teeth. He nods, and you pull at the elastic of his underwear, smirking.

“Dave,” he starts, hoarse voice beginning to rise warningly. With one smooth movement, you pull his boxers down to his knees, freeing his bulge. Like his eyes, it’s bright red. Unlike his eyes, it’s wet and writhing and is pretty much the hottest thing you’ve seen in a long while. You pull his boxers all the rest of the way off and throw them somewhere to your left; hopefully he’ll be able to find them in the morning.

You spread his legs and crouch between them, raking your eyes over every inch of smooth grey flesh you can see. Karkat squirms, and when you take a second too long in your staring, he kicks you.

“Watch it punk,” you catch the offending leg and press your mouth to the place right above his knee. Then you kiss upward, making your way up his thigh.

“I hate you so fucking much, you damn tease,” he gasps, when you’re about three inches away from his dripping nook. You use one hand to keep his bulge out of the way; your dick throbs between your legs, as you take a moment to wonder what it would feel like curled around you. You ignore that in favor of licking a long stripe across the opening of his nook, barely applying any pressure. He whines, one hand fisting itself in your hair loosely. You play with the folds of his nook, never quite entering it, just teasing him. The hand in your hair tightens when you finally dip your tongue in. You fuck him with your mouth until his bulge starts to thrash. He hisses when you pull away.

 Sweat beads on your back and neck, and Karkat’s bangs are sticking to his forehead. He guides you back up his body, hand curving down your neck to your back. His blunted claws make you shiver. He cups your hips and pauses.

“Enjoying the view?” you ask him, propping yourself up on your elbows, waiting for him to make the next move.

“Maybe,” he growls, and you feel his legs shift under you. His bulge twists against your stomach and it’s taking all your self control not grind against him like a horny teenager. “Fuck, Strider, can you, fucking,” he groans, turning red.

“Anything you want, hey, I won’t judge,” and the worst part is you won’t, because just having him under you is doing everything for you and you’d do anything to return the favor. He twists your hips and you let him roll you onto your back. He straddles your hips, nook dripping, and you realize with a jolt that he’s going to ride you.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe, and when he wraps a hand around your cock you arch your hips into the touch. He smirks a little bit, the other hand spreading over your stomach. He rakes his blunted claws over your side, too-slowly moving his hand around you. You make a noise somewhere between a moan and a squeak; later you’ll be embarrassed, but right now he’s just too fucking hot. “Oh fuck, Karkat, shit,” you moan out, watching with wide eyes as he leans down to spread his tongue over the head of your cock, licking away a single bead of precome. Your heart is thudding in your chest and when he straightens up you make a small noise of disappointment.

Karkat fixes you with half glare, half grin. He looks so relaxed as he guides his bulge to your dick. You gasp and grip the sheets, bracing yourself with your ankles pressing deep into the mattress. It feels better than you thought it would, wet and tight and pulsing around you.

Karkat breathes in sharply, spreading his legs wider and slipping a hand between them. You jerk your hips up to the rhythm of his bulge and watch him finger himself, his eyes fixed on your dick. It’s so fucking hot, you’re worried you might come and have to stop.

He slips another finger into his nook and shudders, his fangs drawing blood from his lip. You surge upward to lick it clean, to feel the bitter iron against your tongue. Karkat slides further into your lap, skin sweat-slicked and burning. He runs his tongue along your lower lip, rolling his hips at the same time. He swallows down your moan and pulls his fingers from his nook to wrap around you both. You palm his ass and pull him closer to you, until his bulge around your dick grinds against both your stomachs.

“Fuck you,” Karkat groans, nipping at your ear, running his tongue over the shell. His bulge tightens and his claws dig into your shoulders. “Fuck you to hell, Dave,” and then his bulge releases you and before you can get in a word of protest, he sinks down onto you.

His nook is hotter than you expected, and so fucking tight. You don’t know if he’s ever done this before, if you’re hurting him, but the sound he makes when you fill him convinces you he’s fine. You bite his shoulder and feel his nook spasm around you. He moves his hips frantically, and you move with him, falling onto your back and taking him with you. He curses under his breath at a near constant speed, breaking off only when you slide your tongue into his mouth. His bulge squirms between you, spreading red troll come all over your thighs. Karkat lets out the best noise when you take it into your hand.

He comes with a muffled cry, his face buried in your shoulder. His nook shudders and twitches around you, tightening like it’s trying to keep you there. You dig your fingers into his thighs and fuck him hard while he shudders and moans through his aftershocks. His teeth clench around your neck, drawing blood, and you lose it.

After, he lies slumped against your chest, panting. You take a moment to catch your breath, and to enjoy the weight of him on top of you, before it gets a little difficult to breathe.

“Have fun, Karkitty?” You laugh, rolling out from under him. Your stomach and thighs are unpleasantly sticky, but you don’t much care. Karkat punches you in the shoulder.

Round two is almost better- he rides you against the wall next your bed, legs wrapped around your waist. Your back stings from the claw marks and you can’t get enough of him.

You fall asleep when the light is already streaming in through the window.

When you wake up, it’s four in the afternoon and Karkat is gone. You tell yourself it was to be expected and try to ignore the empty feeling inside you.

You take your time getting up, stretching stiff muscle, and wincing every time something touches your back. You should probably do something about all those scratches, but you’re too lazy to. You take a hot shower and feel somewhat better. You go to wash your sheets and tell yourself you’re being stupid when you hesitate, because it smells like sweat and sex and a shampoo that’s not yours.

You’re not developing feelings; Karkat was just hot like a jalapeno pepper lit on fire.  You’re bummed out that you don’t have his number or anything to contact him with to arrange a second night, that’s all.

There’s a note pinned to your fridge when you wander into the kitchen. For a second, your stomach drops because it’s just what Bro used to do, but when you pick it up the handwriting is unfamiliar.

_I stole your Froot Loops,_ it says on the front. You flip it over.

_Fuck you-wait, I already did.  -Karkat_

You laugh. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there are awkward conversations and even more awkward handjobs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are cool and also if you spot a typo or something, I'd be mindbogglingly happy if you could point it out to me  
> thank you <3

It’s been a week since your plan at the shitty human nightclub went awry. You had wanted to pick up some loser, get laid, and then feel an overwhelming amount of guilt and shame in the morning.

Instead, you have a box of Froot Loops that aren’t yours and a few bite marks left over from what was arguably the best sex you’ve ever had.

The worst part was, when you woke up tangled in his bed sheets, the only thing you’d felt was overwhelming regret that you wouldn’t be seeing him again. Of course, the obvious solution was to leave him your cell phone number, but then again, did you really need one more fucking person to come into your life and make you care about them before leaving you behind like so much shit? No, you’re too busy managing the only ones you have left.

Speaking of, Sollux Captor, your best and totally platonic hatefriend, which he is because he’s annoying and stupid and lisps insults at you easier than breathing, has come to call. Some loser chump fucked up some electronic music synthesizer and called him to fix it. He’s trying to convince you to come along, for reasons unknown, and you really fucking do not want to get up.

“Seriously KK,” he says it _theriouthly_ , standing in front of you. You’re curled up in a huge chair, clad only in boxers, and you haven’t showered in three days. You’re nowhere near as bad as he gets, so you really don’t understand all the harassment.

“Fuck off and die, I don’t need to go anywhere,” you fling the TV remote at him. Sollux catches it and throws it back.  His psionics crackle and he looks like he’s about to slug you in the mouth. You hope he does, just so he’ll feel like shit about it and leave you alone.

 “You don’t even have any food, Jesus, KK, what the fuck _._ What are you and TZ even eating? Your own crushing self pity? I heard it was high in fiber, but there’s a limit and you’ve reached it,” you know he’s only looking for a reaction, so you give him one and sink further into the chair, flipping him off.

“I have human cereal,” you hold up your box of Froot Loops. In the end, you had decided you stole it not out of hunger, but out of some perverse need to make Dave suffer for being so hot. You probably failed in this, but the sugary cereal is compensation in itself.

“KK, you are an open sore on the bulge of troll society,” Sollux tells you, and throws you from the chair. You land against the wall in a crumpled heap of elbows and knees; you almost give yourself a black eye. “Get the fuck up and go outside, like a normal asshole.”

“Fuck off Sollux,” you snarl, picking yourself up. He flicks your rib cage with his psionics and shoves you toward your respite block. You fight him tooth and nail, but it’s hard to do when he can pick you up without ever touching you. He carries you into your block and dumps you unceremoniously onto the floor.

“Put on some clothes or I will dress you, and then we’ll both regret it,” He stands in the doorway, all six foot four of his scrawny frame promising death and destruction if his demands are not met.

“Why do you even care if I go or not? You hate having me around when you’re working,” you say, dragging yourself toward a pile of semi-clean clothes.

“Because you smell bad and if you start doing normal troll things again, TZ will stop pestering me about it,” he says. You find it hard to believe Terezi cares at all, let alone has been pestering Sollux into checking up on you. “And if GZ comes back and finds out we let you fuck yourself up, I’ll be the one who has to deal with him.”

A pang goes through you at the mention of your missing moirail; he’s a musician, in the band _The Green Messiah_ , which is wildly popular for no discernible reason. He goes on tour for about half the year, and then comes back to you. He always says you can come with, but you’re not done with college yet; you’ll graduate at the end of next semester, if all goes well.

You miss Gamzee so fiercely you want to cry, but nobody has time for that kind of horse shit, so you get dressed instead. You don’t bother with anything else, like washing your hair, because that’s for loser chumps who care about their appearance.

Sollux is waiting for you outside your apartment by the time you hunt down shoes and come to join him.

“You still smell,” he grumbles, but you know he doesn’t mean it, because you totally sniffed your shirt and it was fine.

“So do you,” you kick him in the side, standing on the steps next to where he’s sitting. In retaliation, he throws his duffle bag full of tools and who knows what else at your face. You catch it just in time, throwing it over your shoulder as he stands. The sun is preparing to set and the breeze is wonderful; your mood lifts slightly despite everything. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he groans, leading the way down the steps and to the sidewalk. Living in the center of the city has its perks.

You don’t really talk much as you walk toward the bus stop two blocks away. There isn’t anything you want to say; the problem with having a group of close knit friends is the gossip. Everyone knows what’s going on with everyone, and it’s a goddamn embarrassment to be at the center of it. You feel very bad for every single person you’ve ever come at with moderately good intentions. The only way to avoid this kind of feeling is to aggressively turn it on someone else, which you don’t have the energy to do anymore. This last year feels like it’s sucked all the life out of you, you’re just so fucking tired of all this emotional shit.

It doesn’t take long for a bus to arrive, and when it does it’s full of mostly trolls, with a few rugged humans in the back. The driver is a polite redblood who takes your passes with a cheerful nod. Sollux stands at the front, and you pick a spot next to him, where you can watch grey buildings speed by the open window.

“I heard about last Sunday,” he says, suddenly. You groan internally; this is not a conversation you really want to have. “Is that your problem?”

“No,” you lie, because it was the problem, and the problem is you shouldn’t have enjoyed it, you should’ve regretted it the moment you woke up.

“Was it awful? Cause KK, you-,” he starts, sounding like he wants to talk about this as much as you do. The rules of your friendship are easy: trash talk everyone, including each other, and sometimes bully each other into doing healthy shit, but feelings are a definite no.

“Can you not pretend to be my stand-in moirail, please, we’d all appreciate it,” you snap at him. Across the aisle, a teal blood looks nervous, like you two might start fighting and she’s preparing to be an emergency auspitce. You force yourself to relax and look away; the last thing you need is to think Sollux is blackflirting with you.  

“Whatever, KK,” he says, obviously just as pissed as you are. You know it was a low blow, to accuse him of being pale for you, but you really don’t need his shit now. Or, you know, ever. The master of dealing with your shit is you, everyone else is just jealous of your amazing coping abilities.

The bus stops at a more human populated area, near to where you were last Sunday.  There’s a series of tall apartment buildings around, and Sollux checks a small piece of paper before heading toward the nearest one. There’s a bunch of stairs to climb which you guess is just a weird human thing. Apparently they’d all rather walk until their legs fell off than get fucking _anyone_ to fix the elevators.

When you finally get to the top apartment, you stand slightly behind Sollux, holding his bag while he knocks. When the door opens, you nearly drop it.

It’s him- Dave whatthefuckever, shitty club DJ. You see him as he is, standing in the doorway, and as he was a week ago, pale and freckled and between your legs, tonguing your nook.

He’s wearing a loose t-shirt that shows off his collarbones, and you can see a hickey that _you_ left there. Your stomach is in your throat, because out of all the horrible things that could’ve happened, this is the worst. You should’ve known the universe couldn’t take a single day off from tormenting you.

“Are you Dave Strider?” Sollux asks, irritably, edging toward the door. Dave takes a step back to let you both in.

“Oh,” he says, and it’s impossible to see what he’s thinking, if he even recognizes you, because his eyes are hidden by his ridiculous shades. “Yeah, you’re the repair guy, Captor?”

“Yeah, and this is Karkat, my… assistant,” you don’t even have the wherewithal to be offended

“We’ve met,” Dave says, nodding at you, and you swear internally. Sollux turns to you, raising an eyebrow, but you shake your head. Nope, not talking about it now, hopefully not ever.

“Show me the equipment, then,” Sollux says, deciding to ignore you. This is what pays the bills for him, and he’s counting on you not to fuck it up for him, so you won’t.

“In through here,” Dave says, gesturing you both inside and closing the door behind you. He guides you into and past the living room, which has been significantly straightened up, to his bedroom. You try to keep your eyes away from his bed.

Last time you were here, you’d noticed, if not fully appreciated, the sheer mass of wires and technology in his bedroom. Sollux doesn’t look impressed, and you know why, because you’ve fucking seen his hive and it has more cables and connecting monitors than anyone could reasonably need.

He gets to work immediately, having Dave show him what’s working and what’s not, completely ignoring you; so much for being his ‘assistant’. You dump his duffle and turn right the fuck around and out the door, sitting on the first few steps and considering just leaving.

You take out your phone and dick around on it, trying to look like you’re busy when you’re so obviously not. It would be pretty easy just to go and catch a bus home and curl up with your movies, but you have the feeling that Terezi’s going to be back soon, and for all your whining about going somewhere, you really don’t want to be around her at the moment.

You miss how your friends used to be, before you all had to grow up and start doing things with your life. Somehow, back then they didn’t make you feel like such a loser. Terezi’s in a hot-shot lawyer program and loves it; Sollux is a fucking genius, fucking around with codes and getting paid for it; Aradia is out exploring ruins; Gamzee gets to paint his clown makeup on and sing in front of a deranged crowd who love him; etcetera, et-fucking-cetera. You’re three years into college, with a major you hate, and grades so shitty you wouldn’t be surprised if they just kick you out. Having to hear her go on and on about all the great things she is accomplishing makes you want to stick your head down the load gaper and drown yourself.

A few minutes after you’ve absconded, Dave appears next to you. You brace yourself for an awkward conversation.

“So,” he says, “you stole my cereal and didn’t even bother to leave a number. Rude much?” his voice is light, and you know he’s teasing you. You stare resolutely at your phone; if you look at him, you’re afraid of what you might do. He’s still as hot as he was Sunday, and you’re not even a little bit intoxicated.

“The cereal was my recompense for waking up with your hair in my mouth,” you are trying very hard not to breathe on him because you didn’t fucking brush your teeth, what the hell were you thinking.

This is so awkward, you don’t know what adults are supposed to talk about, why can’t you forget that you saw this guy naked, plenty of people are naked all the time but they don’t distract you like _this_ asshole does.

“You loved it,” he elbows you gently. You elbow back, without thinking about it, and the stupid little smirk he gives you loosens a knot in your stomach you hadn’t noticed until it was gone.

“Yeah, just like I loved running into you today, just a real great fucking day, it could only get better if the stairs collapsed from under us and I smashed my head open.”

“Was I that bad a lay?” he laughs, but it’s a little forced. You want to punch him, because he was fucking great and you’d do him again if you got the chance. You want to punch him because he’s sitting a little too close and your mouth is dry and he smells better now than when you fucked him, and he smelled great then.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” you punch him, somewhat awkwardly, in the shoulder. “I just-,” you sigh.

“Aww, sorry for embarrassing you Karkitty,” he smiles a little, like he’s relieved. You want to roll your eyes. You want to leap to your feet and throw this dipshit down the stairs and tumble down after him. You want to punch this motherfucker in the mouth and soothe the blow with your tongue.

“Yeah right, for all I know you did this on purpose.”

Dave raises an eyebrow, which makes him look fucking ridiculous, and you feel a little bit stupider than normal.

“Accusing me of being a master of manipulation? I thought I was too disorganized to be anything but a shitty DJ.”

“Shut up, it was a dumb thing to say, I know,” you hunch your shoulders and try to avoid looking at him.

“Apology accepted,” Dave grins easily and the sinking feeling, like you’d messed everything up, goes away a little. “But seriously, these stairs are fucking memorable, how did you not guess.”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking about it, I was more pissed off at,” you make a vague gesture, and he nods.

“Yeah, you’re kind of pissed off at everything, aren’t you? Like the angriest little space troll, come from Mars to tell me how much of a little shit I am,” he laughs and if he tries to ruffle your hair, you will actually bite him.  

“Trolls aren’t from Mars, asshole, haven’t you ever even seen a history book?”

“Nope,” he says, completely deadpan. You reconsider kicking him down the stairs.

“That explains so much,” you say, dryly. At some point, you’d put your phone back into your pocket and now you have nothing to fiddle with.

“Listen,” he continues. “How long will it take your friend there to finish up fixing my stuff?”

“A couple hours maybe, why?” you look up at him for once.

“Let me take you out to dinner,” he says, and your stomach drops.

“No,” you say before you can stop yourself. He opens his mouth to backpedal, turning a little pink from embarrassment, but you don’t let him. “I mean, uh, you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“You work at a shitty nightclub and have to pay hackers to fix your equipment; you are not paying for shit.” You, on the other hand, have a steady job doing minimal coding work on the internet.

His shoulders loosen.

“Why, Karkles, are you offering to take me out?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you figure, Sollux told you to get out; why the fuck not. You ignore the small voice telling you to give Dave more credit than that, he’s hot and despite everything, you kind of like talking to him. The voice knows nothing, it’s probably just as bad as past you, who decided to sleep with this guy in the first place.

“There’s a place about a block away that serves trolls, if you’re down,” he suggests, and you find yourself reluctantly agreeing. You poke your head into his apartment to let Sollux know, and he makes a noise at you so you figure he understood.

Then Dave’s leading you down the stairs (if you never see stairs again you will be so fucking happy) and it’s still light outside, so you just walk. It’s kind of nice, walking with him. He never fucking stops talking, which would be annoying if he weren’t borderline adorable when he spoke, all wide gestures and mixed metaphors.

The restaurant is a small place, and quiet. You sit across from Dave, fighting the desire to fiddle with your phone. You’re so glad you remembered to grab your wallet.

 “What’re you thinking about so hard over there?” Dave asks, bemused. You almost tell him, except you don’t think his ego needs to be fluffed anymore than it has been.

“Do you really think your shades hide the way you’re a huge nerd?” you say, and wince internally. This is a… date kind of thing, you shouldn’t be insulting him. Dave shrugs.

“Occasionally,” he says. “Do you really think the turtlenecks make you look cute? Because you’re right, they do.” You groan and put your face in your hands.

At that moment, a bubbly little greenblood comes over and takes your orders. You tell Dave to get whatever he wants, because you’re a fucking gentletroll. He laughs at you, and you feel warm all over.

“So,” he starts, still wearing his shades. You wish he’d take them off, even if his eyes freak you out a little. It’s too hard to read his expression with them in the way. “What’re the odds, right?”

“What’re the odds that the universe wants to screw me over?” You roll your eyes.

“Could be worse,” Dave says, “I could’ve just gotten out of the shower when you opened the door. ‘Yo ,sorry Mr. Troll, I seem to have left my wallet in my other pants, how about I just pay with my body.’”

“How about hell no,” you grimace and focus solely on not imagining Dave in his towel. “I now see why you work in a shitty hole where no one has to talk to you.”

“Yeah, it’s hard being so attractive, the whole world is just jealous,” he tosses his bangs with a flourish, and you have to bite down to not smile.

“Totally, it’s got nothing to do with your shit sense of reality.”

Dave grins, leaning on his elbow and watching you.

“So, are you saying you do any better?” he asks.

“I do way better, I am the reality king, bow down and receive my bitter truths you scumsucking heathen,” you brandish a straw at him. Dave eagerly picks up the challenge, and soon you are dueling with straws. The fight ends when you lose your grip and Dave sends your straw flying into an old lady two tables away. Both of you swiftly look away. 

“So,” Dave says, hastily trying to make it look like you’ve been talking the whole time, as the harpy glances around for her prey. “What do you do, Karkat Vantas, reality king?”

“I’m a student,” you say, looking down, abashed.

 “Cool, what’re you studying?”  Dave rests his face on his hands, watching you over the table. It’s a little unsettling; his shades make him look like an insect at the wrong angle.

“Psychology,” you say, after a moment’s hesitation. “I… like how people work, but the classes are fucking ridiculous.” You also really, really don’t want to become a psychologist.

Your sandwiches arrive then, interrupting whatever Dave had been about to say. The silence doesn’t last long, only until the greenblood is out of earshot.

Dave replies, his mouth completely full when he speaks, “for real? My sister’s in to psychology too, all certified and shit, and she’s a fucking nightmare.”

“Yeah, pretty much everyone in the field is,” you take a bite of your own sandwich, and find that it’s surprisingly good.

“Do you like it?”

You briefly consider lying, but there’s really no point.

“I fucking hate it,” you tell him, swallowing a large bite and almost choking. “I thought I’d like it because I like predicting characters, but in reality it’s a bunch of bullshit.”

“Like, book characters?” Dave seems genuinely interested.

Now you’re really embarrassed. “Like, uh, movies, shows…”

“Why don’t you study that?”

You blink at him.

“Do you even know how hard it is to break into that industry?” You ask. “You have to be fucking amazing and lucky, and also, I don’t know, _not a fucking mutant troll._ Just because they say we’re living in a post-hemophobic America does not actually mean we’re living in a post-hemophobic America. _”_

“You should try anyway,” he shrugs. “Show those hemocist assholes they don’t control you.”

“Like, freelance internet stuff?”

Dave nods.

“I am nowhere _near_ good enough for anything like that, why waste my time by trying?”

“Dude, you can’t know if you don’t try. Plus, isn’t it better to do shit you like, instead of dragging yourself to shitty classes you hate? Who even says you have to do it the mainstream way?”

“Whatever,” you gulp down the rest of your sandwich without looking at him.

“I mean it,” he presses. “If you really like something, do it, and other people will like it too.”

“How the hell would you know?” You hate talking about this, about how useless it is for you to even hope.

Dave shrugs. “Half of my rent comes from internet shit; not to brag or anything, but I run a blog. Also a webcomic.”

“Oh really?” You try to pretend you’re not impressed, like he doesn’t have everything you want.

“Yeah, it’s called Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, you might have heard of it.”

“Nope, sorry,” you shake your head, making a mental note to look it up. Dave shrugs.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket; it’s Sollux, texting to ask where the fuck you went and why. You roll your eyes at the message and hurriedly text back.

“Computer geek missing you?”  Dave asks.

“I don’t know why I fucking bother to tell him anything, he never fucking listens,” you complain, just as the greenblood comes back with the check. You pay with cash and send it back.

“A regular space cadet,” he says, and you groan. “Oh come on, you’ve got to laugh tonight at least once,” Dave leans over to poke at you. “Ticklish?”

“Oh fuck no,” You lean out of reach, just in case. Dave’s grin widens.

“You are, you so fucking are,” he says, and you know your fate is sealed.

“Oh yeah? What about you?” you challenge, preparing to dive across the table and get him before he can get you.

“Just my feet, which are safe in my shoes,” he smirks. Your change arrives before you can challenge that statement. You leave the greenie a pretty good tip, and stand to leave. Dave slips a hand around your arm and grabs it before you can pull away. It’s dark outside, and the street is lit with crappy lights that fuck up your vision. You don’t find streetlamps in the troll districts; your night vision is too screwed by them.

“He still complaining?” Dave asks; you check your phone.

“Yup,” you slide it back into your pocket without replying.

“Good,” says Dave, and then he’s kissing you. You grab him by the front of his shitty hipster t-shirt and pull him into you, opening your mouth to him, like you’ve wanted to do since he opened his door. He’s soft and firm in all the right places, slipping his hands into your jacket and pulling you flush against him. You’re chest to chest with him, nearly the same height.

“Your hands are fucking freezing,” you say, slipping your own around him. “Incidentally, what the hell are you doing?”

“This,” he says, and kisses you again.

You kiss him back, and when he pulls away you headbutt his shoulder.

“Dipshit,” you mutter under your breath. You can feel him laugh through your chest and it’s nice in a weirdly personal way.

“Jackass,” he says, kissing the ridge of your ear.

“Knock it off, we’re in public,” you tell him, making no move to stop him. His hands slide down your back and you can fucking hear him smile. In retaliation, you swipe his stupid shades and shove them into your pocket.

“Okay, sure,” he says, slipping his hands under your shirt. You flinch at the cold and try to step on his feet. Dave laughs and pulls you around, until he’s leaning against a wall and pulling you with him.

“You’re insufferable,” you jab him in the ribcage and kiss him again. It’s weird, how you can’t seem to stop. He slides his tongue against yours with purpose, nudging a leg between your knees. You can feel your bulge stir, as Dave pushes his thigh closer to you. You widen your legs and lean into him; he’s definitely hard, and you wonder if you’re going to get to fuck him again. You wonder if that can maybe wait until you’re not in the middle of the fucking street.

“Hey, Karkat,” he says, right before he completely shatters the mood by tickling you. You let out an embarrassing shriek that only dumbass mammals could mistake for a laugh and jerk away from him.

“I hate you,” you wheeze, between shrieks, as he continues to try tickling you. “I hate you so fucking much.”

Dave just laughs louder, only stopping when you finally wriggle away. Your knees sting from the concrete you scraped them on but you feel victorious in your escape.

“I’m never letting you in my pants ever again,” you swear, and he stops.

“Is that a promise?” he asks, and gives you the closest thing to barkbeast eyes you’ve ever seen on an actual person. Your insides melt.

“That’s unfair,” you tell him, hastening to stand and break eye contact. It’s to no avail, he just follows you.

“I know,” he kisses you again, and this time you can count he freckles around his nose. You don’t want to, especially not after he fucking tickled you and didn’t even let you retaliate, but you’re starting to learn that he can go from hot to dork in a second.

His mouth is hot and wet, a contrast to the chill air around you. He smoothes his hands over your thighs, rubbing in little circles. You feel yourself leaning into him more heavily, tracing his bottom lip with your tongue. You catch his face and stroke his cheeks, tasting every bit of him. He starts to walk backward and you follow him into an alley between two buildings. It’s not too narrow, but you still feel a little cramped. You recognize that this would be the perfect place to get murdered.

“So can I?”

“What?”

In reply, he threads his fingers through the loops on your jeans, pulling you closer. He’s hard again, and you know he can feel your bulge through your jeans. It would be a shame to say no.

“God, are you that desperate?” you say, squirming against him. You kiss him just in time to swallow his moan. Your phone buzzes again, probably Sollux, but you ignore it. You slide your hands onto his ass, digging your fingers into his jeans and Dave’s cock twitches.

“Maybe,” he says, “but hell, a hot alien babe can do that to a guy, especially when I’ve already seen you fucking yourself on my dick.”

Your face burns at his words, but you don’t let go. One of his hands slides from your thigh to the front of your jeans, and he bites down on your lip at the same time. You buck into him involuntarily just as he unbuttons you.

“Cheater,” you gasp, shoving him into the wall and unzipping his jeans in retaliation. “This is so nasty, who even knows what’s on these fucking walls.”

“Not my fault your asshole tech friend is in my apartment,” Dave says, hissing when you shove his jeans and boxers down.

“You hired him!” You push your own jeans down, wincing when your bulge is exposed to the cold. Stroking yourself, you bury one hand in his hair and kiss him. Dave moans, canting his hips forward, until your bulge slides against his.

“Didn’t know- ah, fucking,” he grabs you by the hips until you’re pinning him against the wall and rolling your hips over his. Your bulge is wrapped halfway around your hand, halfway around his dick. You stroke him, almost rough enough to hurt. “Shit, shit, Karkat, fuck, I didn’t know I’d even get to see you again-,”

“Jesus Christ Dave _, shut up,”_ You squeeze just enough to make his breath stutter. He grinds against you, panting, and slides a hand down your ass. When he slides a finger into your nook you almost shout. Your bulge tightens around his dick, and with a muffled moan he comes.

“Nice,” you peel your hand away from him, making a half-hearted attempt to wipe it in on the wall behind him.  Your bulge flexes and writhes between your legs; Dave is beet red.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, tucking himself back into his jeans before pushing you away. Before you can protest, he drops to his knees and has his mouth on you. You bite your hand to keep from groaning when you look down. Dave watches you, tongue trailing up one side of your bulge before he lets it past his lips. He fingers you at the same time, nudging your leg open further. He sucks a little sloppily, twirling his tongue with the tip of your bulge.

“Damn,” you mumble, and come. Dave pulls back, smirking. He laps your bright red genetic material from his fingers; your legs feel weak.

“So?” he says.

“This was a really stupid idea,” you tell him, pulling your jeans up and wrinkling your nose at the uncomfortable feeling.

“Yeah, it kind of was,” he admits, grimacing. “I give a fantastic blowjob though.” Your phone buzzes angrily.

“Hah, right,” you roll your eyes, checking it. “Have you ever even sucked a bulge before?”

“I have now. Maybe you should show me how it’s done,” he winks. You slug him in the shoulder and stride out of the alley. No one’s around, thank fuck.

“Maybe I should,” you say, absently, hurriedly assuring Sollux you’ll be _right there_.

“Is that a date?” he asks. You blink, looking up.

“Uh,” you reply.

“Can I have your number?” He bounces on the balls of his feet and stares at you, trying to feign indifference. You realize you still have his shades. After a moment’s deliberation where you try to pretend you haven’t jacked off to the memory of him filling your nook, you reply.

“Yeah, have you got a pen?” He does, and you scrawl your number on his arm like you’re a damn wriggler again. You spend the rest of the walk back to his apartment joking and picking at each other.

Sollux is predictably pissed, especially when you remind him that going out was his idea. Dave pays him extra for the trouble, but he still spends the bus ride home ranting in your ear. You don’t mind, even if your jeans are uncomfortably sticky. Sollux doesn’t even walk you all the way home; he’s off to bitch at Aradia the moment the bus lets you off.

Terezi isn’t there when you get home, so you pull up your husktop and google the name of Dave’s webcomic. It is, to say the least, really fucking shitty, and also weirdly hilarious. You are possessed with the need to own t-shirts with a number of panels printed on them and quickly chalk this feeling up to witchcraft.

Terezi texts you an hour later, saying she’ll be late because she’s dealing with Vriska drama. You settle in for a long night of ironicly shitty jpg images and possibly some romcoms. All in all, it’s not a bad day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this entire fanfic is pretty much an excuse to write lots of davekat porn.

You are awakened by an obnoxious ringtone you picked specifically for your best bro. Rising from the depths of your slumber, you fumble at your phone and pull it to your ear.

“’Lo?” You answer, still half asleep.

“Hi Dave! Uh, I know this is early for you but I need some help.”

“Whatcha need Egbert?” You push yourself into a sitting position, blinking. Sunlight filters in through your window, casting long shadows across your room.

“Uh, see, my car broke down. I kind of thought you’d be awake, though. It’s like four o’clock.”

“Don’t you fucking judge me,” you say, pulling yourself out of bed and looking around for a decent pair of pants. “If you wanna make the ladies swoon, you gotta get your beauty sleep.”

John laughs. “Did you know your accent is really bad when you’re sleepy?” You roll your eyes, shoving one leg into your least rumpled pair of jeans. With your next words, you purposefully exaggerate your Texan twang.

“It’s bad manners to insult the guy driving you to… Egbert, where were you even going? Unless Rose and Jade are back from that camping thing and are currently getting de-wormed or whatever it is furries pick up in the woods, which they are not because Jade has not texted me to make her dinner, you have nowhere to go. Everyone you know is out.”

“Wow, rude, Dave! Maybe I was grocery shopping, or driving little old lady-hitchhikers to their yoga practices!”

“I know for a fact you got done hunting down your groceries at…” you pause in your search for a shirt to check twitter. “Noon yesterday, you little shit.”

“Okay fine, but seriously, I have friends outside you, Rose, and Jade.”

“Sure you do,” you grab a pair of shades and slip on your shoes before heading for the door. “Where’d you say you were again?”

“At the corner of Derse and Carapace! Come on Dave, I’m not a shut-in like you.”

“Whatever you say.” You wince a little at the shut-in crack, but fuck if it’s not true. You do not like people as a general rule; friends are so much work. The internet is so much easier.

“No, seriously! You remember last Sunday?”

“Couldn’t forget it,” you say, completely truthfully. The marks Karkat left you are nearly faded, and you’ve been aching to give him a call. Unfortunately, every time you pick up the phone something pops up, like your own crippling insecurity or an extra shift at work.

“Well, I met a girl; her name’s Vriska, and she’s the coolest ever. She likes Nic Cage so I was going to bring her some movies to watch with me, but then I went grocery shopping yesterday, and my car broke down today, so I called you.”

“Yeah, I was there for that last part.”

“Are you sure Dave? I can go over the story if you want,” John’s obnoxious laughter is just as loud on the phone as in person. You dig your car keys out of the junk drawer, among the various broken swords and strips of gauze, and head for the door.

“It’s cool, I got this. I’m also on my way, so try not to get murdered or something by angry cyclists before I get there.”

“You know I always wait to get kidnapped until you can be there.”

You hang up without saying goodbye; John’s voice haunts your ears long after you shove your phone into your pocket. You take the stairs two at a time, resolving, like you always do, to get _someone_ to fix the fucking elevator, shit is getting ridiculous.  You hardly ever drive your car these days; everything you need is reachable by bus or walking, but occasionally crap like this happens and it comes in handy.

The place John broke down in is all the way across the city, almost outside its limits, in the more troll populated area. With traffic, it takes you about forty minutes to get over there. John’s lounging against a half broken down building, assuring an old woman on a motorcycle that he’s got someone coming. You pull over right behind him, and his whole face lights up.

“Dave!” He greets you, as you step out of his car.

“Hey, Egbert; friend,” you nod at the old woman, who nods back before speeding off. “I see you ditched the trash heap; good call.”

“Don’t insult Casey! It’s not her fault she’s old,” John huffs, bouncing up to pull you into a platonic bro hug.

“Whoa, hands off the merchandise, you gotta pay for that shit first,” you hug him back, briefly, before punching him in the shoulder. “Get in the car and give me directions to your playdate, payment will be demanded after the service.”

John climbs into the passenger seat and you take the driver’s side.

“You’re welcome for waking you before the sun sets, by the way,” he says, cheerfully, strapping himself securely. You roll your eyes behind your shades.

“I will make you pay for this through the nose, don’t think I won’t.”

 John giggles. “Chicken nuggets or itunes giftcard?”

You consider your options at you pull back into traffic and do your best to not hit anyone else, no matter how many points it would get you.

“Definitely the chicken nuggets,” you say. “Twenty piece, delivered to my house upon request, no matter the time.”

“Deal,” John points at a street as you drive past it. “Also that was the street you needed.”

You swear halfheartedly and pull an illegal u-turn. “Damn it John.”

“Hey, remember that time we took a roadtrip to see Rose and accidentally ended up in Boston?”

“Yes, I remember you telling me to take the wrong exit and completely bullshitting directions for two days.”

“Then you know this could be so much worse, so shut up,” John laughs.

“I changed my mind; I want the twenty piece and the ten piece.” You are remembering vividly why you never let John be the navigator. After ten more minutes he tells you to pull up to a broken down house.

It’s a hole-in-the-wall; a large spider has been spray painted across the door, car parts and other miscellaneous objects litter the brown yard in front of it. Honestly though, compared to your place it’s not half bad.

“Here?”

“Yep, thanks Dave! I’ll text you if Vriska can’t give me a ride back,” he pops open the passenger door at the same moment the door to the house flings open, and a very familiar troll storms out. John pauses, while Vriska, the blueblood with the love of all things pirate, follows in an open button down flapping in the breeze. Her bra is bright pink. Karkat, because that’s who it is, looks like he’s crying and desperately trying to hide it. He storms past your car without even a glance.

“John!” Vriska greets your friend, who bounds up and swoops her into a hug. You get the feeling this is not their first movie date. Neither of them acts like Karkat storming away even happened. Idling in her driveway, you make a decision.

Rolling down the passenger side window, you back up into the road until you’re directly across from Karkat.

“Hey,” you call out, driving at the same speed he’s walking. Karkat freezes, and an expression of utter mortification passes over his face.

“This is not fucking happening,” he says, staring at you with red rimmed eyes. You’re thankful that there seem to be no other cars on this street.

“Unfortunately for the both of us,” you say, “it is.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says, defensively. The studs in his lip look like little arrows today.

“Me neither, so instead of awkwardly asking if you want to talk about it, I’m offering you a ride home.” Always helpful, you lean over and open the passenger door.

Karkat hesitates for only a second before crossing the street and hopping in. You consider applying for a job as a chauffeur.

“Thanks,” he says, voice rough. As always with the presence of Karkat, you are overwhelmed with the desire to kiss him. You think that if you told Rose about this, she’d either suggest you were falling for him, which is ridiculous, or that he was an incubus. As you drive out of that neighborhood, you wonder how you can get your hands on some holy water, and if saving your soul is worth losing the great sex.

“Anytime,” you tell him, reaching into your glove box and producing the unopened package of tissues you’ve kept with you since the great Rose debacle. You suppress memories of alcohol -induced vomiting and hand Karkat the tissues. He takes them, stares, and begins crying anew.

You are really, really bad at this.

“I didn’t know you knew Vriska,” he says, after about five minutes of messily wiping his eyes.

“I don’t; John, my friend the bartender, does.”

“Best of luck to him,” Karkat’s laugh is only a little bitter, you think. Just a little bit.

“I’m definitely not asking if you want to talk about it, but…”

“Terezi- my roommate- had a fight with her.” He takes a second to brace himself on the dashboard when you go a little too fast over a speed bump; oops. “She lured me in to interrogate me, and I guess it got a little fucking personal.”

“No shit dude,” you’re not really sure where you’re going, so you just drive aimlessly through the streets. Karkat doesn’t seem to notice; he’s too busy looking at his hands. You notice he’s got a cut and bare your teeth in sympathy. “I’ve got a first aid kit in the back, do you…?”

Karkat shakes his head and crams the offending hand into his pocket. “I’m good,” he says.

“You’re bleeding all over your pants.”

Karkat scowls.

“It’s not _all over_ , you egregious dipshit, it’s just a fucking scratch.”

“Dude, infections are not heroic, just put a fucking bandage on it.”

“What the fuck ever.” He bends over and starts to rummage through your glove compartment. You keep driving.

“So, things got personal, and then what?”

“I- I may have gotten a little angry. She threw a chair at me, and there was this really ugly vase, how the fuck was I supposed to know it was from her ex? Anyway, yeah, there was broken glass, and she told me I was a fucking idiot for staying by Terezi’s side after we broke up, she was just using me, that kind of bullshit. Anything to make herself feel better; I’m lucky she didn’t start bawling to prove just how ‘bluhbluh unfair and hurtful I guess I’m just a huge bitch no one likes bluh’.” Karkat’s stopped crying by now; in fact, he looks more pissed than anything.

“Terezi’s your ex?” You say, because you don’t know how to keep your mouth shut.

“Yeah, we used to be matesprits, but we broke up after like, half a perigee. We were living together before that, and neither of us had anywhere to move to after.”

“You’re roommates with your _ex?_ Shit dude, that’s gotta be hard.”

Karkat takes a deep breath, looking out the window while he speaks.

“It can be, but I think we’re getting better.”

You stare at him through the corner of your shades. “You sure that banging me isn’t some grand gesture to make her jealous.”

“Wow, yeah, screwing you in an alleyway and not telling anyone about it sure is the best way to get the attention of my ex-matesprit, how’d you guess?”

“Nah dude, for serious. I wanna know what I’m getting into.”

Karkat turns to face you, glaring. “What you see is what you get,” he says, gesturing to his torn and stained turtleneck. You desperately want to buy him some better t-shirts with money you don’t have.

“I dunno man,” you pretend you’re paying close attention to traffic. “Maybe you should prove it to me.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” You say, allowing a tiny smirk.

“Oh my god, is now really the time?”

“Nah, we can make it into a proper date. Ever see _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_? No? Well, we should totally fix that.”

Karkat laughs, “My place or yours?” he asks, and you blink because wow, you didn’t think that would fucking _work._

“Either works for me,” you say, honestly.

“I live like, two blocks from here. Take a left at the next intersection. Where the fuck you were going anyway, I don’t know.” Karkat wipes his eyes roughly, and you feel bad for pressing the issue. Maybe you’ll just tuck him into his bed and make him watch movies; there’ll be plenty of time for sexytimes another day.

You take a left at the next intersection, and with Karkat’s help, you arrive at his place without getting lost.  It looks nice; nicer than your place, maybe as nice as Rose’s.

You park your car in the empty lot two spaces over at Karkat’s direction, and you try not to touch him as he guides you inside.

You were right when you guessed it was nicer than your place; the cups match, there are actual window curtains, and there’s only one odd looking stain on the carpet that you can see. You slip your shoes off like the polite man you were raised to be, and try not to ogle the many and various dragon statues that litter the rooms.

“I always forget how creepy they look to people who aren’t used to them,” Karkat follows your gaze. “Terezi collects them.”

“They’re cool,” you say, grinning despite yourself. The prospect of meeting Karkat’s roommate is suddenly very appealing. “So do you have wi-fi or-,” Karkat interrupts you with his mouth. You suspect this is becoming a habit for him. You taste salt on his lips from when he was crying, and this is the first kiss you’ve had with him that feels more tender than hungry. You are a little worried about how much you are starting to care about this troll boy.

“No movie date?” you ask when he pulls away. His face is conflict incarnate; you get the drift that he is _really_ into movies. You hang out with Egbert, so this is no problem for you. With luck, he might even have taste.

“Movie after,” he decides, and pushes you out of the living room and into his room. He sheds your clothes like they’ve personally insulted him; it’s unbelievably hot.

“I forgot trolls don’t have beds,” you comment, as he pushes you onto a pile of pillows a few feet from his covered recupracoon. You’re down to your boxers and he’s still completely dressed, which strikes you as unfair. He crouches between your legs, looking down like he’s not sure what to do now that he has you. Helpfully, you lift up and tug at the hem of his oversized sweater. He raises his arms and lets you pull it off him, trying at the same time to not take his eyes off you.

“You have the weirdest body,” Karkat says, while pushing his jeans down and off.

“Wow, thanks, that’s very sweet of you to say,” you say, covering your eyes with your arm as you hold back laughter. “Your hair is sticking up, also,” you gesture toward him without looking.

“Fuck you,” there’s a smile in that voice, which is a good sign.

“That is, in fact, the plan,” you remind him. Warm lips graze your throat, startling your eyes back open. Karkat’s eyes are half lidded, which is incredibly sexy, and he’s kissing you like he wants to fuck you slowly through the wall, which is also incredibly sexy.  You are struck with Egbert levels of brainlessness.  “The plan is for there to be some sort of fucking involved, preferably with dicks but I’m up for whatever you’re into just as long as you still respect me in the morning, babe, you can’t tell the guys at-,”

“Just shut up, I like the part where that happens,” he grumbles, gaze flicking up to meet yours.

“Make me,” you challenge him, just to have his lips on yours again. Your cunning plan works, and there is suddenly a very nice tongue tracing your bottom lip. You use a hand in his hair as leverage, to get him close enough to taste the backs of his piercings. He strokes your face, clawtips lightly grazing your skin.

“Blessed silence,” he sighs into your mouth. In retaliation, you slide your hands into his pants to cup his ass. Karkat moans and he pushes back into your touch, spreading his legs and grinding against you.

“Fuck,” you groan, rolling your hips. “Can we skip the making out part and get to the part where we make hilarious but surprisingly arousing noises, like-,” Karkat puts a hand over your mouth.

“There was no way that sentence could’ve redeemed itself, nookwipe, don’t pout,” he says. “You’re lucky you’re so fucking hot.”

“Mphm phm hmf mm?” you say, and Karkat scowls. Then an idea occurs to him and it curls into a smirk. He keeps both hands over your mouth and rocks his hips.  Without thinking, you grind back, and Karkat topples forward.

“Fuck,” he says, to your shoulder. You don’t say anything, just whimper and push at his boxers. With a twist of his body, Karkat peels them off and drops them somewhere next to the pile. He proceeds to do the same with yours, allowing his bulge and your dick to get comfortably intimate.

Karkat groans at the contact, spreading his legs a little pathetically. You pull him closer by his thighs, stroking his skin and rubbing at his hips until he’s just as much a squirming mess as you.

“You’re so lovely,” you mumble into his hair, before he digs his claws into your sides and you retract that statement.

“Stop fucking- ngh,” he shudders, grabbing one of your hands and pulling it toward his nook. Smirk widening, you push him off, until he’s resting on his stomach underneath you, propped up on his knees and his face crushed against a pillow. Only then do you slip two fingers into his nook.

He immediately tightens around you, letting out a breathy groan that goes right to your cock. Slowly, you curl your fingers, and Karkat lets out a breath through his teeth. You watch him fuck himself on your fingers with your lip between your teeth. You add a third finger just to hear him moan.

“Wait, Dave- stop,” Karkat says suddenly, pausing; you freeze.

“You okay?” you ask him, pulling your fingers out. Karkat makes an unhappy sound and you sit back on your haunches.

“I think one of my piercings is stuck,” he says, after a moment’s awkward silence.

It takes all your self control not to laugh, before you decide to hell with social conformity, and begin snickering.

“I hate you,” he says, pulling back from the pile as much as he can, which isn’t much. He chants a soft chorus of fucks as he tries to work his stud out from the fabric of a pillow. Grinning to yourself, you run your hands over his hips. Karkat whines angrily, until you lower your mouth to his dripping nook and he tries to kick you.

“Come on Kittykat.” You trail your tongue over his thigh before gently biting down.

“I’m going to murder you,” he groans out. You pinch one ass cheek, curious, and he shudders.

“I’m going-fuck you, fuck, to murder you in the fucking face, _Strider I swear to god,_ ” he is not doing a very good job of pretending this isn’t totally getting him off. You slide one hand down to your dick and stroke yourself lazily while you tease him.

“What was that?” you ask him sweetly, pressing a kiss to his spine. His shoulders flex helplessly.

“I said-,” he begins, before you slide a finger into him again and his words die in his throat.

“Why do trolls even get piercings,” you ask, as he finally unhooks the stud and rocks back against you, wedging his arms between his face and the danger. You stifle a groan and your arm stutters.

“Because fuck you,” he says, voice muffled. His back flexes when you again add a second, and he tries in vain to spread his legs further.

“That’s a stupid reason,” you tell him, pausing while you try to remember how words work. “Just like your face.” He pulls away from you and turns over, shoving at your shoulders.

“Please, for the love of god, _stop talking.”_  

You spend a few moments pushing and prodding at each other until Karkat caves in, wrapping his legs around your waist and slipping his tongue into your mouth. His skin burns like a fever, and he slides your dick inside him. He’s just as tight as you remember from the first night, but you still aren’t prepared for how _good_ it feels. 

Sweat makes your hands slick as you stroke his sides, feeling him writhe. His nook clenches with every touch; you ache with the desire to get closer to him, to curl your body around his and kiss the sweat from his eyelashes.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” he barely gets the words out.  You can feel how tight his muscles are through his skin, and the way he shakes with pure need, spreading to you like a forest fire. “An engraved invitation?” His fingers thread through your hair, keeping you close.

“Sorry,” you say, pushing into him. “’Must’ve gotten lost in the mail, I’m gate crashin this thing.” He laughs and meets your thrusts with his own until you can barely think, let alone speak.

His hips lift off the pile and he clings to you, swearing more than the pope prays, and you can practically feel his blood racing.

“Fuck, Dave, please,” Karkat whines, claws digging in to your shoulders. You press yourself deeper into the heat of him and a sound rips itself from your throat.  It sounds a lot like his name. You fuck him hard, his back pressing into the floor. His nook pulses around you, and when you drive your hips flush against him he keens.

When he comes, so do you, thrusting in as deep as you can.

As you come down, you feel rather than listen to the way Karkat’s heartbeat fades into a less erratic beat. He smells like sex and you, which is a great combination he should wear more often. You push your nose into his shoulder and just breathe.

“I think your lip is bleeding,” he says, after a moment.

“Oh, shit,” you sit up and wipe at your mouth; there is indeed blood. “Sorry for bleeding on you.”

“Fetch me my pants and all will be forgiven,” Karkat doesn’t even open his eyes.

“You sure you don’t want to shower?”  One eyes cracks open. You can’t resist; you wink back. “We could shower together.”

“Dear god,” he groans, closing his eye again. A pause, then, “give me a moment, and then fine.”

“Don’t fall asleep.”

“Choke on your tongue and die, asshole, I’m not going to fall asleep.”

About an hour later, pants have once more become a part of your life, which is lamentable. Karkat has shown you to the couch and yes, there is wi-fi. You allow him to navigate his weird laptop that’s not exactly a laptop and give him your Netflix password.

The movie you wanted is, surprise of all surprises, not on instant.

“This entire country is bullshit,” Karkat sighs, before you somehow bluster him into watching _Men in Black 2_ , which, considering your current company, is pretty much the most hilarious shit ever. Halfway during the movie though, you realize he’s seen it before, which takes some of the edge off.

He looks so peaceful, lying on your shoulder, eyes half lidded. You push his hair aside and whisper in his ear.

“The way you watch that movie really butters my biscuit.”

Karkat elbows you hard in the ribs without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Stop hovering and go make me some fucking grubcorn,” he grumbles, so you extricate yourself from his side and wander into the kitchen. There sure are a lot of dragons.

You find the package in the pantry, and are a little bit disgusted by it. You know that they’re not really grubs, the FDA would never allow it despite what the posts on your tumblr say, but the imagery on the box is off-putting all by itself. The instructions on the back are in Alternian.

You’re struggling with something you think is supposed to be a microwave when the front door slams open and a very pointy troll girl steps inside.

“Honey, I’m home,” she calls out, grinning. You can hear Karkat’s groan of dismay in the other room. “And you brought company; how uncharacteristic! Is it the pizza man?” she sniffs, and her smile grows wider. You’re reminded of an alligator, only sharper. “Did you pay for your pizza with your body? Or has this delectable man been kidnapped?”

“I tried and tried to say no, but he offered to pay me in gum, and I was just like, no one ever pays me in gum,” you say; she laughs.

“I’m assuming you’re the reason Mr. Cherry has been hiding a good mood for weeks?” She asks, shedding a large black briefcase, reflective cane with a dragonhead handle, and bright pink raincoat at the door.

“I have not!” Karkat calls from the living room. “I’m _always_ angry!”

“We know,” Terezi calls back. “I’m Terezi Pyrope, his warden.” She sticks out a hand. You take it, grinning.

“Dave Strider, his … pizza man,” you say, and she cackles like you told her something delightful.

“Stop flirting and finish the grubcorn,” says Karkat.

“I don’t know how,” you call back. Terezi snatches the gruesome box from you and rips open the top. She does something strange and complicated with one of the packages inside and it puffs up. One solid punch to the microwave apparatus and the door swings free. Delicately, Terezi deposits the grubcorn and closes the door; it immediately begins to hum.

“Punch it when the popping stops,” she instructs, and, with a light clap on the shoulder, she pushes past you into the living room.

You know you shouldn’t be listening to conversations that don’t concern you, but you can’t help but eavesdrop a little as the grubcorn pops.

“So, Krabcake, is this your human?” Terezi says.

“He’s not _mine,”_ Karkat growls back. You can almost hear his blush, it’s too cute. “Your ex kismesis tried to brain me this morning though, if you care.”

Terezi sighs. “Change of topic overruled on the grounds that Vriska is a convicted felon and Tavros is in the hospital. _He’s_ fine, though, if you cared. Now, tell me, is your human matesptrit here to soothe that nubby head of yours? Since it was nearly brained, I’m told.”

There’s a brief scuffle where Karkat hisses, “ _he’s not my matesprit,”_ and Terezi does an awful lot of cackling.

The grubcorn finishes popping. You do as instructed, and bring a bowl full of leathery popcorn-looking substances to the living room. The movie is in the throes of bug man anger.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you instruct, handing the bowl to Karkat and sitting next to him. On his other side, Terezi is curled up and sniffing the screen from about a foot away.

“What’s happening now?” Terezi asks, right as you’re about to excuse yourself and go home. She’s staring at you like she knows what you’re thinking even though you know she can’t see, and, slow and deliberate, she winks. You feel your grin come back full force. You and Karkat take turns narrating the on-screen action, which turns out to be more hilarious than just watching.

After it’s over, you get looped into another movie, and then actual delivery pizza where no one pays with anything other than cash. You and Terezi make quite the team, a fact Karkat laments loudly, only shutting up when you kiss him quiet. Terezi applauds from the kitchen.

“I really should leave,” you say, after the pizza has been devoured. Terezi makes a sad noise and Karkat frowns even deeper.

“You don’t have to go,” he says, but you shrug guiltily.

“I actually have work tonight,” you admit. “Gotta bring home the bacon and everything, I’m a vital part of this economy.”  He rolls his eyes.

“Whatever, make sure you actually call me this time,” he says, turning a little pink.

“Will do,” you promise, as you open the door. You stand outside for about three seconds before you dash back in.

“-keep this one,” Terezi is saying, then stops when you enter.

“Forgot my shades,” you say, fighting hard to keep a smile down.

“Oh my god,” Karkat says, and bangs his head on the kitchen table. You grin all the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading, yall are amazing <3 (if you see a typo, please call the emergency hotline or leave a comment)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, some violence in this chapter (someone ends up with a couple broken ribs and a concussion)  
> also, special thanks to [Manyblinkinglights](http://manyblinkinglights.tumblr.com/) for editing (betaing?) They are the raddest person, it's them  
> Thanks again for reading c:

“So,” says Terezi, the moment Dave is out the door, “are you going to keep this one-,” and of fucking course Dave barges back in, having forgotten his shades; you hate your life.

“Oh my god.” You let your face and the table have a reunion of body and soul. Dave laughs at you as he leaves a second time.

“Why do you care about the state of my quadrants? You and Sollux both, I fucking swear.”

“It’s obviously an attempt to distance myself from my own problems; also, the face you make when you’re embarrassed is cute.” She pauses, and then shoots you a wicked grin. “Sollux and I agree it is a very cute face, which is why Mr. Appleberry Blast now has a key to our front door!”

You groan. “You are the devil incarnate and also I hate you.”

“Hush, he is protection in case Vriska comes calling again.”

“Protection?”

Terezi’s smile turns bitter. “For her. I’m not sure what I’ll do if she tries any more shit, and while I find the justice system fascinating, I prefer it from outside a cell.”

You sigh, pushing your hair out of you face. “I’m so fucking tired, I’m gonna hit the ‘coon.”

Terezi’s smile widens. “Why? All that pailing tire you out?”

“ _Shut the fuck up.”_ You slam your block door behind you and strip while you walk, until you can simply slide into your recuperacoon.  You don’t dream.

A week after The Vriska-Tavros Incident, as you and Terezi have agreed to call it, Dave calls again and invites you over. This is how you find yourself once more accompanying Sollux into the human sector; he has a job nearby, and you have a date. Thing. There will probably be bad food and good sex, or maybe just shitty movies. With Dave, it’s hard to tell.

You’ve seen each other almost every other day up until now, either out somewhere or at one of your places. It’s nice, if a little… relationship-y. But also not at all; yesterday all you did was beat his ass in Mario Kart, which was nice, and there was some making out, which was nicer. You’re always assumed, from outside resources (read: romcoms) that relationships required more... romance.

You’re thinking way too fucking hard about this; as the bus pulls into your stop you’re tempted to let your head slam into the window. Sollux glances at you, and, as though reading your mind, an invisible hand flicks you in the ear. You kick him in the knee and cut in front of him before stepping off the bus.

“Have fun,” Sollux says, a smirk in his voice, so you flip him off too, for good measure.

“Suck my bulge, fucktrain,” you call, walking backwards while you head for the opposite side of town.

“You’re breaking my heart,” he calls back, before striding out of earshot. You’re a little disappointed; the scandalized looks of every troll around (approximately three) at your blatant “blackrom” were more than a little amusing.

Dave’s hive is in the same place it’s always been, and the elevator is still broken. He meets you at the bottom of the stairs, phone in hand. He’s too busy scowling and typing away to notice you walking up.

“What’s up,” you say, by way of acknowledgment. Dave almost flinches, glancing away from his phone to look at you. His frown lessens.

“What up yourself.” Dave slips his phone back into his pocket, standing up. “Took you long enough.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, some of us actually have to take a public bus to get anywhere; we can’t all drive a piece of shit car.” You take the stairs one at a time, falling into your comfortable banter.

“My car is not a piece of shit.”

“It’s a little bit shitty.”

“My car is perfect; it sounds like an angel and the back seats are great for rolling around naked. What more could you want?”

“Are you speaking from personal experience there?”

Dave grins at you, “Wanna find out for yourself? It’s not that far.”

You consider it for a moment; car sex is new and interesting, but you’re already halfway up the stairs and you are so not ready to climb back down.

“Later, and I will fucking hold you to that,” you say. Dave laughs. It’s been getting easier to make him grin, and it fills you with a strange feeling of warmth every time it happens. This usually prompts you to punch him in the stomach, and this time is no exception.

“Any particular reason you wanted me over today?” you ask, as you near the top of the stairs.

“Maybe. Maybe I just missed your stupid face; maybe I’m planning to sell your organs and this whole time has just been a plot to lull you into a false sense of security.”

“Oh no, I’m so frightened,” you deadpan, and Dave snickers again. He looks a little embarrassed by this.

Then you’re finally at the top; you’re tempted to give a cheer, but you’re slightly out of breath and it would be just a little humiliating. No wonder Dave is fucking toned, if he has to make this climb every day.

His apartment is the same as before, neither more nor less cluttered, except for a small path of clear carpet from the door to the couch. You follow it, throwing yourself down and watching Dave. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked a little nervous.

“Actually,” he says, closing the door behind him, “I was wondering if you wanted to hear some of my remixes? Or not, Netflix just uploaded a fuckton of new shows and if you haven’t seen  _Firefly,_  then man, you are-,”

“Sure,” you cut him off. You haven’t heard any of his music except for that first night, and you weren’t really paying attention then.

“Okay, cool, that’s cool, I mean  _Firefly_  is cool too but whatever man,” He picks his way through the scattered clothes and debris to the giant stereo system leaning against the far wall. You try not to watch his ass.

“If it’s anything like that one with the human girl who put on a blonde wig sometimes to make shitty music and became instantly unrecognizable to her friends, and you make me watch it, I swear to fuck I’ll rip your bloodpusher out through your protein chute,” you say, to distract yourself.

“Lighten up Karkitty,  _Hannah Montana_ is a classic part of human culture,” he says, turning the system on before plugging his over-expensive and compact glass listening apparatus in. You watch him mess around on the screen for a few seconds before hopping back to you. He collapses onto the couch just as the music starts.

The first one isn’t too bad, if a little screechy; the second one is better, with a thumping bass beat that inspires you to lean across the couch and snatch Dave’s shades from his face, depositing them neatly on the coffee table. Or rather, the piece of wood propped up on two cinderblocks that serves as a coffee table. Not for the first time, you wonder how Dave managed to afford this place when he seems to be lacking financially. You tried asking once, but he’d managed to dodge the question by shoving his tongue in your mouth. You’re a little embarrassed by how easily it worked.

There’s something about the third song, or maybe about how Dave is sitting, or maybe the fact that you were thinking about kissing him again, but you start to get a little fidgety.  You flop down on your chest, between Dave’s legs, and watch him watch you.

“Hey Dave,” you say, looking up at him, smirking. You press your face against his thigh.

“Karkat,” he returns, slightly wary.

“Remember when you sucked my bulge in that alley?” His face goes a little red, but he retains his composure.

“Hard to forget.”

You slide your hands up his jeans to his fly, and, maintaining eye contact the whole time, you slowly unbutton it. Dave blinks; you can see a little of his teeth where he’s biting his bottom lip. Your smirk widens.

“Well this,” you say, undoing his fly and pulling his jeans and boxers down to his knees- he’s already half hard- “is how you give a fucking blowjob.” You push yourself forward until you’re right above his dick, elbows on either side of his legs.

You start by wrapping a hand around the base and giving him a few short strokes, until he’s completely hard. Dave’s face is even redder now. You’re sure that your expression is the very picture of smug; he doesn’t seem to mind.

“If those fucking vampire fangs get anywhere near my meatstick of majesty, I will literally and actually die. And also probably kill you,” he warns, running light fingers through your hair.

You grin at him and lap at the head of his cock; Dave gives a startled whimper. You take that as inspiration to lick him again. You kiss the tip, tongue darting out to lick away a bead of precome, before taking the head into your mouth. Dave groans.

“Jesus fuck, Vantas,” he grinds out; you give a hard suck and whatever else he was about to say turns into a low moan. You can feel the bass of the music in your chest and you make sure you suck him to the rhythm.  You flex your tongue against him, sinking down until your lips meet your hand. It’s different from a troll’s bulge, in that it isn’t actively trying to wriggle down your throat, which is a comfort. Dave’s cock is also thicker than your average troll’s, but obviously what you’re doing works just as well. You can feel the muscles in his legs tightening against your free hand and chest.

He threads one hand through your hair and strokes your horn lightly. You moan around his cock and Dave shudders.

“Jesus,” he says again, the hand in your hair tightening. He rubs along the base of your horn and you can’t help but slip your hand down between your legs.

You pull back and drag your tongue over the head of his cock once more. Your hand slips between your skin and boxers to take hold of your own writhing bulge. The hand against your horn gets rougher.

“Dave,” you groan, lips pressed to his cock. You let your bulge wrap itself around your thumb and slip a finger into your nook. 

“This really gets you off, huh?” he says. For an answer you wrap your lips around him again, but this time you take him all the way, until his cock hits the back of your throat. It’s so much easier not to gag when the damn thing isn’t moving around. “Fuck, Karkat-,”

You give an answering hum and his hips jerk up. You can feel how close he is, and smirk.

He comes as you pull up, and you try not to cough as you swallow as much as you can. Your own nook clenches around your hand, but it’s not nearly enough.

You pull yourself up his body until you can bury your face in his shoulder and listen to his breathing even out.

“Damn,” he says, after he catches his breath. Your bulge tightens pitifully around your hand.

“Told you I give a damn good blowjob,” you say, and he laughs.

“Want me to return the favor, sensei?” he asks. A hand grazes the waistband of your jeans.

“No,” you groan, “but I could use a hand, haha, pun intended,” it comes out a lot breathier than you’d hoped.

“I would be much obliged to assist you with that,” he pulls at your jeans, but they get caught around your hand. You want to beat your face against a pole. “Uhh, Karkat?”

“My hand is not stuck, my bulge just has abandonment issues,” you say, studiously hiding your face. Unfortunately, your words are still audible.

“Let me help you with that.” You can hear the smirk in Dave’s voice and are helpless to do anything about it. He easily undoes your pants and slides them down to your knees. Cool fingers press against your nook and you groan.  It isn’t much longer until you’re fucking yourself on Dave’s hand while you stroke your own bulge. He bites your shoulder and your nook clenches down. Hooking his fingers, Dave pulls you closer to him and you come all over yourself.

“Shit,” you say. Your hand has finally been released from your bulge’s crushing embrace. You flex it gingerly, catching your breath. Dave slips his fingers out of you and wipes them on your jeans with a grimace. You shove him, and he laughs.

“You can borrow some of my clothes, if you want,” he says. The music in the background is slower now, or maybe it’s just you.

“Ugh, your pants are stupidly tight, I hate them,” you grumble, pulling away from him.

“Fine, go home with troll jizz all over them, I’m sure no one will mind, isn’t that like a mating signal or something? ”

“Yes Dave, that is definitely a mating signal, it just screams  _I’m a fucking moron please mug me and beat the shit out of me for being a disgusting asshole,_  which is of course what  _everyone_ wants in a pailing partner. Huh, no wonder I’m here with you.”

“Hello Sassmaster Vantas,” Dave laughs, pulling you into his lap and sitting up. Your jeans fall to the floor as he carries you, swearing and flailing, into his bedroom. “Here,” he says as he tosses you a well used pair of jeans from the floor. You sniff them surreptitiously, but they smell fine so you put them on. The music is still audible, though you’ve stopped paying attention.

“I knew you had a motive for inviting me over,” you grumble, just to say something.

“Well, it’d be weird if I just stared at you and did nothing,” he says.

“Touché.” You sprawl on his bed, taking up as much room as you can. This doesn’t seem to discourage him; Dave, in turn, lies across your back, stretching.

“How’s Terezi?” he asks, voice muffled by his sheets.

“She tried cooking yesterday; it didn’t go well but she seemed happy about it. Sollux and I tried to stomach it for her but it kind of ended in a food fight.” You don’t tell him about the part where Vriska tried coming by and Sollux literally punched her in the face with his psionics because she wouldn’t leave, or about how Terezi smashed a plate later, thinking about it.

“That sounds beautiful,” he replies with a laugh.

“You hungry?” you ask him. Dave shrugs. Your stomach growls but you hope he didn’t hear.

“Could just order takeout,” he says.

“Nah,” you reply. “I need a fucking walk.” Dave looks at you with a pitiful expression from the bed.

“But it’s so far,” he complains. “I swear to god my legs will fall off and I will be half a person, like the cook in  _Deep Blue Sea._ It will be up to you to avenge my legs and blow up every mutant shark in existence.” 

“Please stop referencing shitty movies at me.” You pull one of his jackets on, a dull grey, on because fuck that shit it’s cold out.

“Never,” he grins at you. “You just gonna leave without me?”

You eye him from the doorway.

“You don’t look like you’re going anywhere,” you observe. He rolls over until he almost falls off the edge.

“If you ditch me I will never give you a blowjob ever again,” he says.

“Like that’d be such a loss,” you laugh, and see him smile.

“When you get back, I’m going to make you watch that movie,” he promises.

The nearest food place is two blocks away, between the human section and the place where there’s more highbloods than anywhere else in the city. You pretend you aren’t nervous as you push past the door into the too-bright space. You force yourself not to make eye contact with anyone you pass by. Out of the corner of your eye, you still catch a few sneers.

You scour the aisles for food-making things, and end up with chips, coke, and a couple of premade sandwiches. You hope Dave won’t mind.

“Freak.” An indigo dressed all in leather brushes past you, slamming her shoulder against yours and throwing you off balance. You’re reminded of why you don’t shop on this side of town.

You say, “watch where you’re fucking going,” because you never could keep your mouth shut.

The indigo turns around.

“I’d be careful about who you motherfucking spit at, gutterblood,” she snarls.

“I’m so fucking frightened,” you deadpan right back.

She’s furious, but doesn’t say anything when you turn away and make your way to the next aisle. You try not to watch as she storms from the store and almost gets smashed in the door as she leaves. You grin.

The bored blueblood at the counter doesn’t bat an eye over your eyes, which are so traitorously bright. She gives you the correct amount of change and bids you a monotone  _have a nice night._

Outside, everything is still and dark. You heft your bag over your shoulder, walking across the street, and take a second to fish your phone out of your pocket.

A dull roar grows steadily louder, but you still don’t see it coming.

One moment, you’re telling Dave he better be fucking happy with a sandwich, and the next you’re becoming extremely intimate with the sidewalk. It tells you many lovely things and doesn’t judge you for the bright red you accidentally spill on it. You lie for a moment, dazed, as you try to think clearly.

After you lie there for a while, you realize that your chest really fucking hurts, and also your head. This encourages you a little, because head wounds bleed a lot so you’re probably not dying. Key word,  _probably._  You have almost died before and, although you can’t quite remember it, you’re sure there was a lot more blood that time. Your phone is no longer in your hand, which is bad. You’re under the impression you’re supposed to call someone when an angry highblood hits you with their motorcycle.

You hope the sandwiches are unhurt. Slowly, you push yourself over, until you’re lying on your side instead of your chest. This is a mistake; your side screams with pain and you quickly roll over onto your back. The sky glitters serenely; you move a shaking arm just enough to flip it off. This inspires you to get your hands under you and push yourself up, into a sitting position. Lights dance in front of your eyes; you lean forward and to the right, puking bile into the street. Thankfully, you have the presence of mind to grab your bag of foodstuffs before continuing.

Your head really fucking hurts. All the same, you somehow find yourself getting to your feet; you retch again but there’s nothing left to come up. The walk back to Dave’s place is slow and painful; you’re forced to stop several times, leaning against the closest wall and sucking down air like it’s going out of style. Your head pounds and all you can focus on is getting back to Dave, because he’s probably hungry and if you don’t, he’ll think you ditched him. You don’t see anyone as you make your way back; if you did, there would probably have been screaming.

You almost can’t make the stairs up to the apartment. You spend a long while just staring at them before the air escapes from you in a long sigh that makes your whole head spin. Then you climb, and all you can focus on is picking up one foot at a time. For some reason, multitasking just isn’t your thing at the moment.  You find yourself at the top eventually, and make a mental note to bask in how badass you are later, when you can be sure you’re not bleeding to death.

You regard the door with mild irritation usually reserved for your friends. Ultimately, you end up kicking it several times and almost losing your balance.

“Karkat? What the fuck- it’s been almost two hours- is that-,” Dave splutters, opening the door for you. You blink, and for a moment there’s two of him, before your face finds his shoulder.

“Sorry about your jacket,” you mumble, slumping in his arms.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Karkat, what happened?” He pulls you into him, guiding you back into his apartment.

“What the fuck does it look like,” you say, or you think you say. You blink, and suddenly you’re in a shower and missing some of your clothes. The water’s warm and stained with blood. Dave crouches next to you, whispering and stroking your hair. You close your eyes and lean against him.

“If you ever do something like this again I swear to fuck I’ll kill you, or chain you to my bed so you don’t ever get hurt, please Karkat,” he saying it softly, which is nice, because you don’t think you could take anything louder.

“’M okay, happens,” you flap your hand at him, searching for a cheek to pap, but he catches your hand and pulls it to him. You don’t remember much else. You’re not sure if you’re blacking out or falling asleep; you remember Sollux saying never to fall asleep with a concussion, but you really can’t help it.

 

 

Yelling wakes you once more; your head feels a lot clearer, but everywhere aches.

“What,” you rasp, and discover that your throat is drier than the nook of your dead empress. The yelling stops; this pleases you. A sharp slap forces your eyes open, and you’re a lot less pleased. Sollux is scowling down at you, something in his hand.

“Ow,” you say, or try to, but cough instead. Water is shoved in front of you; gratefully, you drink. “Seriously, what the fuck was that?”

“You had us all worried, Karkat!” It’s Terezi; she’s sitting to your left, looking pale. She flicks you in the nose.

“Fuck- Terezi- can you people  _stop fucking hitting me?_ I’ve had enough of that for a fucking lifetime. _” Y_ ou try to swat at her arm and find that your palms have been neatly bandaged. You figure you must have skinned them in your freestyle slide along concrete. 

“No,” says Sollux, simply, on the bed near your feet.

“Only if you promise to stop being stupid,” Terezi says, and then she hugs you. It hurts kind of a lot, but you hug her back. You feel the beginnings of guilt start to creep in.

“Unfortunately that seems to be a standard trait; but with enough donations and shitty commercials, together, we can find a cure,” says Dave. You glance to your right, and there he sits. He’s wearing his shades, and he looks like he did when you left him to get food.

“Yeah.” Terezi pulls away and you look down at your hands. “Fuck, uh, sorry about dinner,” you say. Dave grimaces, just slightly.

“I really don’t think that’s the issue right now,” Sollux says, sliding off your- Dave’s bed. “I’m going to let KN know you’re okay, and then she can call GZ and talk him down, or you can. I don’t care as long as I don’t have to.” He walks out of the room without looking at you, phone already out to make the round of calls.

“So,” says Dave, almost conversationally. “What the fuck happened?”

“Well,” you start, glancing at the ceiling to avoid looking at him or Terezi. This is bullshit, it’s only a scratch, or you’d be staring at docterrorists instead of the inane walls of Dave’s apartment. “There was a highblood and a motorcycle.”

Terezi sighs, long and drawn out. You find that your head is still a bit fuzzy. Curiously, you prod at your temple. Your finger meets bandage and a sharp pain encourages you not to do that.

“Care to elaborate?” Dave says, still seemingly calm. You glance at his hands and see that they’re shaking. That doesn’t bode well.

You elaborate; in the next room, you hear Sollux arguing with someone on his phone, either Eridan or Kanaya, by the sound of it. Shame and embarrassment make your face grow warm. This isn’t the first time you’ve been fussed over for some minor injury, and with your luck it won’t be the last. When you finish, no one says anything.

Finally, Terezi breaks the silence.

“I’m not surprised,” she says, lightly, and stands. She walks out to join Sollux, who is visibly agitated. You watch him pace in front of the doorway and catch the end of a snarl. You grin; definitely Eridan. The next time you, him, and Kanaya get together you are going to tease the shit out of him.

“What’s so funny?” Dave wants to know.

You hastily drop the grin. “Nothing. Can I stand up?” You try to sit up, but he pushes you down with hand on your chest. It’s highly embarrassing and also painful.

“Jesus Christ, Karkat, you got hit by a fucking motor vehicle, calm your alien tits for five fucking seconds.”

“It’s not that bad,” you insist. Dave raises an eyebrow over his shades and presses a single finger to a spot on your side. Darkness blossoms in front of your eyes and pain makes you forget how to breathe for a few seconds. When you remember how, you choke out, “I have a broken rib, who fucking cares? I’ve had-,” he pokes you again and  _worse_  becomes a hiss of pain.

When the pain subsides into a dull ache, Dave is yelling at you. Quietly.

“No, seriously, what the fuck were you thinking? Inquisitive minds want to know- did you think you’d fucking bounce off or develop the power of flight? This is what they meant when they said  _don’t talk to strangers they might be bigots that hit you with their motorcycles_ -,”

“Are you seriously,” you grit out, when you realize what exactly he’s saying, “implying that I allowed myself to be the victim of a hit-and-run  _hate crime_  on purpose?”

“No,” he says, even though that is  _exactly what he just fucking did_. “I’m saying you’re a fucking moron for going there in the first place, what did you expect?” Anger gives you the strength to sit up and yell louder.

“I  _expected_  to buy a fucking sandwich and come back here and eat it,” you tell him. “Only shit fucking happened and- who the fuck even cares? I’m alive, you’re alive, whoa what a party of life and being alive.” For emphasis you’re tempted to punch him in the stomach, like you did earlier, but he’s too far away.

“You’re lucky you’re not lying on the damn ground in a puddle of your own shit; you have a concussion the size of fucking Jupiter. No, you just wanted to take a stroll back through the same section of town as someone who tried to kill you, daintily dripping your own organ matter as you go. That was a really fucking great idea; way better than, I don’t know, calling someone or maybe getting some help before you passed out in the street?”

His humanity is so blatantly obvious you want to puke. Or maybe that’s just your ribs.

“Wow, Dave, that is such an accurate portrayal of what happened you deserve a national geographic award for most self-righteous asslord, congratufuckinglations on your astonishing lack of a grasp of  _anything about me.”_

Dave sucks in a breath, and remains completely silent for about three seconds. It’s long enough to piss you off enough to take a swipe at his face; you knock his stupid shades to the floor.

Dave launches himself away, automatically wiping at his face like he’s checking for damage. You’re strangely pleased to see a tiny scratch where you must’ve clawed him by accident. He stoops to pick up his shades, and then turns his furious gaze on you.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, and staggers to the door. With energy that surprises you most of all, you throw your- his- sheet covers back and storm after him. A hand is pressed to your ribcage and you’re limping, but you follow him through the apartment.

“ _Where the fuck are you going?”_  you say, loud enough to freeze Sollux and Terezi in place. You ignore them as you stalk after Dave, who doesn’t even reply. He throws the front door open right before you catch up with him.

“This is your apartment,” you yell down the stairs. Dave takes them two at a time and doesn’t look back. “You can’t run away and sulk from your  _own apartment_.”

“Watch me,” he calls back, and flashsteps away. Seething with anger and trying to ignore the way your eyes sting, you barely allow Sollux and Terezi to tug you back into bed. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no porn this time, my apologies

As soon as you’re out the door, you realize you’ve made a mistake. Karkat’s yelling after you but your pride won’t let you turn around and apologize, so you flashstep down the stairs and out into the night.

You realize a few moments after your face hits the night air that your shades are still upstairs, as well as your jacket, and it’s too late to go back. Cursing under your breath, you start to walk.

It’s cold outside and the streets are all but bare. When it’s this late, you don’t have many escape options: John already said he wouldn’t be home, and the others... You could text Rose and Jade and ask for a spot on their couch, but you would prefer not to have your half sister or her girlfriend picking at your brains. You come to the inevitable conclusion that you’re going to have to face Karkat or freeze to death.

However, your favourite café will be open for at least another hour. The place isn’t far away, and some distraction would be nice. Your hands are still shaking from your fight and you desperately want a coffee, so you decide to procrastinate making an apology in favor of sweet, beautiful, _warm_ coffee.

Sitting alone in the corner a few minutes later the tremors still haven’t stopped. You pick idly at some dried blood under your thumbnail, probably left over from bandaging Karkat’s head wound. You hope it doesn’t bleed through before you get back; you were a little worried he might need stitches.

Karkat’s words are ringing in your ears. You know he was right, even if you’re not ready to admit how much you screwed up just yet. You take a sip of coffee without registering the taste.

To distract yourself from thinking about how much of a fuckup you are, you scope out the room. You’re apparently not the only loser hanging around; two trolls and one other human occupy a few tables.

“So I said to him,” says one of the trolls, a tall girl with a scar on her neck that’s light blue. Her friend, another girl, this one with fins and gills, is obviously bored. While the blueblood continues with her talk, she flags the girl wiping tables over and says something indistinct. The girl nods and turns around to grab something from the counter; you watch the seadweller’s eyes follow her ass and chuckle to yourself.

The human girl is less interesting. She’s preoccupied with her phone, but you catch the hint of a bruise on her collarbone; she’s too far away for you to see if it’s a hickey or something a little most sinister. You don’t really want to know, anyway.

You look at your own phone, perusing your short contact listen for further distraction. You hesitate over ‘Dirk’ but you can’t bring yourself to pester him, not tonight.

You put your phone down and are about to get another coffee when the human girl starts crying; softly at first, then louder.

The blueblood troll glances at her, pausing midsentence. You suddenly need to leave, you can’t take this; crying people have never been your specialty. The blueblood is standing up and you can’t move, because you’d cut in front of her and you don’t want the whole place (all five people in it) to watch you run away like a coward.

“Are you alright?” The troll asks, her voice soft but carrying, putting a hand on the human’s shoulder. The crying girl shakes her head. “What happened?”

In reply, the girl hands her the phone. The blueblood frowns.

“Oh, he sounds like a real winner,” she says, sinking into the chair beside the girl. “My name’s Alanna, what’s yours?”

You stare down at your hands while she calms the girl, Elise, down enough that she’s not crying anymore. Your throat hurts and you want to get out of there, so you stand up and chuck your styrofoam cup into the trash. You stare straight ahead, even after you’ve left the café, until you find yourself standing in front of your apartment building once more.  

 This is what you get for leaving your bed ever, you think as you let yourself in. This is what happens when you talk to people and kiss them and worry about them: you do stupid shit like run away from people in love or say things you should be taken out back and shot for saying. Nonetheless, you don’t hesitate as you make your way back to Karkat.

You’re almost to the top of the stairs, cursing your incredibly poor choice of distraction, when you’re hit in the chest by someone short and pointy.

“Whoa there, TZ,” says Sollux, but Terezi’s already bounced off; she doesn’t look the least bit ruffled. You, on the other hand, will probably have twin bruises on your chest in a couple of hours. 

“Where’s the fire?” You ask, wincing a little.

“Karkat kicked us out for arguing too loudly,” Terezi says. “You left him pretty pissed off; I wouldn’t be surprised if he breaks a shitload of your stuff.”

“Yeah well, he already took my most prized possession,” you sigh.

Sollux raises an eyebrow, frowning. “What did he take?”

“My cereal.”

“So that’s where that weird shit came from,” Sollux says, comprehension dawning on his face. You don’t want to ask.

Terezi squints at you, and since you know for a fact she can’t see you, you try not to think about what she might be trying to say.

“How is Karkat?” you ask, because you can’t help yourself. “Besides angry.”

“I don’t think he is anything besides angry,” says Terezi. “Except sulking and also in pain because he won’t take any more meds, so I guess you can add stupid to the list as well.” She frowns.

“Not to step into any of the complicated shitstains KK calls quadrants, but you should probably go talk to him, no auspice,” Sollux says. You feel something inside you crumple a little.

“Do we need an auspistice?” you ask.

Sollux immediately backpedals.

“Probably not, he doesn’t seem to really- I don’t fucking know- okay you know what? You go talk to him, that’s your job; I’m not his fucking moirail,” he says, and tiny sparks start to crop up around him. “His moirail is conveniently three states away, so he’s not here to do his fucking job.” He directs these last words at Terezi, sparks becoming more frequent.

“That’s exactly why we _don’t_ need to do it in a way Gamzee would approve of,” Terezi replies, voice clipped.

“Okay,” you say, taking this moment to get out of the way of any psychic temper tantrums that might happen in the near future.

“Don’t let him pretend to be asleep,” Terezi calls after you.

You take the rest of the stairs two at a time and get to your door just as Sollux starts yelling something about time and legis-something-ators. Glad to have escaped that conversation, you open your door and leap from the frying pan directly into the raging inferno of your own stupidity. 

Karkat’s in your room; you wish you could say you didn’t linger in the doorway for what felt like years before finally entering, but that’s exactly what you do.  When you finally man up enough to go in, with a bribe, you try to be as quiet as possible. Still, Karkat stiffens the moment you enter.

“Go away.” Karkat’s voice is muffled; he’s hidden his face in your pillow. At any other time, you would’ve snapped a pic with your phone, because he’s just that cute. Instead, you study your hands like they might tell you the right words, because you fucked this up like you fuck everything up, and you just need him to understand that sometimes you’re just as surprised by the bullshit that pours from your mouth as he is.

“I’m sorry,” you try. Karkat shifts so he can glare at you with one eye. When he catches sight of you, the half of his face you can see softens.

“I’m still angry at you,” he says, but reaches out. Hesitantly, you put your hand in his and he pulls you closer. He rolls over to give you enough space to lie down, tugging you close, his hand on yours insistent. You try not to touch him, but Karkat is having none of it, and forces you to cuddle up to him.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, because there’s not really much else you can say, but it’s muffled by his hair. You can feel Karkat sigh with his whole body. He doesn’t say anything, so you try a different approach. “I brought you some water,” you try to gesture toward the bedside table, but Karkat has your arms pinned; you’d forgotten that aggressive cuddling was such a predominant troll thing.

“I’m still really, really angry at you,” Karkat growls. The arms around you tighten. You wonder if he’s going to squeeze you to death and then swallow you whole except no, that’s boa constrictors but still-

“Shhh, only water now,” you say. With another sigh, Karkat releases you, and you help him sit up. You hand him the cup and he takes a sip, presumably to shut you up. It works; you press your face into his side and silently curse yourself.

The glass makes a tiny noise when he sets it back down, the fan hums in the background, and Karkat is warm and breathing and very much alive right next to you.

“….I’m sorry I worried you,” Karkat says, after a time.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole and said you got hurt on purpose,” you say. “That was fucked up. I’m sorry I’m a huge asshole. Bigger than someone’s who regularly indulges in hardcore anal fisting, bigger than the biggest anal fisting enthusiast’s-,”

A warm hand covers your mouth.

“If you ever say ‘anal fisting’ again, I will rip out your tongue and ditch you in the middle of nowhere to slowly bleed to death,” Karkat warns.

“Anah Ishing,” you say, voice muffled. He hand tightens; his is the look of a troll who is deeply regretful of his life choices.

“I mean it, Strider,” he says. “One more time and you lose the eyes too.” You’re on the edge of repeating yourself when the murmur of voices outside, previously cordial, rise suddenly.

Karkat sighs, rubbing his forehead. Your playful feelings slowly drain; this isn’t over yet.

“Okay,” you say, so you don’t apologize again.

“Good,” Karkat says, but his heart isn’t in it. The voices get even louder.

“What’re they arguing about?” you ask.

“Whether to get officials involved or not,” he says, looking away. “They wouldn’t fucking listen when I said it wasn’t a big deal, and then they wouldn’t shut up, so I kicked them out.” He looks a little defensive about kicking people out of your apartment, but you don’t much care.

“I noticed,” you say. “Should I lock them out?”

Karkat shakes his head, stroking your shoulders while you talk. It’s strangely nice. “Let them fight it out first, or Sollux will end up blasting his way through half the city in a fit of ragegasm. Then Terezi can testify at his trial and I will cry really fucking manly tears when the legislacerators tear him to shreds for fifteen cases of assault and a million dollars in property damage, and you will probably be a pile of meat somewhere downtown, and we will all be very upset about it.”

“Dismemberment scenario aside, why do you care if they get the authorities involved or not?”  Personally, the idea of tracking down the sick fuck who hurt your- who hurt Karkat doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

“Because I already fucking said it’s _not a big deal.”_ Karkat says, slightly pink in the face.

“That’s where we disagree, Cherry Pop,” Terezi says from the doorway, making you jump.

In a truly awe-inspiring display of grace you hit the floor, your last-ditch attempt to stay in place causing you to knee yourself in the eye.

“Ow,” you say, momentarily stunned. Karkat peers down at you.

“Are you done?” he asks, when you blink at him.

“Hold on, I’m about to perform a new very dangerous act called _shut the fuck up Karkat;_ people have come from miles around just to see it in person.” You sit up, trying to hide the way your face is burning.

“Yeah, sure, I’ve heard it’s-,”

Terezi’s low voice interrupts him.

“Karkat Vantas, do not ignore me,” she says, stepping in. You definitely do not cower behind the bed; you simply make sure it’s between you and a very angry troll girl.

Sollux isn’t far behind her, his horns still sparking occasionally. His expression is unreadable behind his glasses, something that strikes you as familiar. Later, when all of this is over, if Karkat’s still talking to you, you’re going to tease him about how he _totally has a type._ A friend-type anyway, or something, hell you don’t know if they’ve ever been involved and it’s not like you care or anything; Striders don’t get jealous, you’re just wondering.

“I’m not ignoring you,” Karkat says, petulantly. He’s curled in on himself, like someone bracing for a punch. You want to reach out and hug him or touch his shoulder or _something_ , but you have the feeling he’d bite your arm off if you tried.

Terezi crosses her arms and says nothing. She’s not even looking at you- - fuck, she’s not looking at anyone technically-- but you still want to hide under the bed. You wonder how Karkat has managed to last this long living with her; she’s like Rose, who you once tried to share a hotel room with for _one night_ before climbing out the window and texting John for help, except Terezi is trollish and pointier. Karkat stares back, upper lip raised in a silent snarl. You think, if you were anyone else, it would seem threatening instead of endearing. Or hot. Fuck, fuck, _not the time Dave._

“Screw you,” Karkat breaks first. “I didn’t ask any of you to-,”

“You were hit _by a motorcycle,_ ” Terezi reminds him, none-too-gently. “You have two cracked ribs! Probably all of them are bruised! You showed up on your matesprit’s door and collapsed in a pool of _blood_. Don’t you think that deserves a bigger label than ‘not a big deal’?”

“You know as well as I do that getting hit by a stupid motorcycle isn’t the worst thing that’s happened to me on these streets, come on Terezi-,”

“Oh, I know; believe me, I know. I have been there every time you end up with your fronds in a knot because you missed the class on keeping them to yourself; I have seen every scar on your stupidly skinny body, and I have seen you almost die in front of me. Don’t tell me that I don’t know what a big deal is after all these-,” Terezi’s shouting now, her face turning teal.

“Can we please for once stop trying to play incestuous moirail playmates with the battered mutant? I know that I’m just _irresistible_ but it’s getting pathetic.”

 “Oh, oh, here he goes again! Playing the ‘you’re not my moirail’ card like a broken circular recording device whenever someone so much as sneezes at you, you’re not fooling anyone Karkat, so just _stop.”_

“Maybe that’s because _you’re not my fucking moirail,_ ” Karkat is shouting now too. “You’re not my matesprit or my anything, fuck you Terezi, you don’t get to pity me after this, after I finally get over you, don’t-,” he chokes off.

“I’m your _friend,_ Cherry Pop. I have known you since you had six legs instead of two! If you could pull your thinkpan out of your waste chute for even one second, you’d see that, so just shut up, okay?” she says, and then she’s crying and Karkat’s crying and you-- you have had enough emotional theatrics for one night. You want Karkat safe and warm in your bed, next to you, and you want to sleep for the next three years. Unfortunately, it’s rare you ever get what you want.

“You could’ve died, idiot,” Sollux says, quietly. He’s vibrating with energy now, all red and blue. The one-man laser show is a lot more intimidating now, and the very real possibility of electrocution keeps you in place. “Your pathetic excuse for a brain could be splattered on the pavement where we’d never find you and _it’s not a big deal?”_

“I’m not dead,” Karkat says, hastily wiping at his eyes. “I’m here, I’ll always be here; do you really think a piece of shit that’s barely more than a glorified two-wheel device could take me out?” And Terezi’s hugging him, and Sollux is hugging him too, all of them crammed into your tiny bedroom like they’ve been here forever. You’re standing and about to make your escape when an invisible force catches hold of your shirt and pulls you in.

“You too, human,” says Sollux, smirking, before you’re pulled into the hug. You spare a moment, between too-sharp, too-warm bodies, to reflect that this must be so fucking painful for Karkat with all his bruises.

“Okay, okay,” Karkat says, after a few moments. “That’s enough embarrassment for one day; everyone put your shame globes away and retreat into your designated corners.” His voice is only a little choked up.

You’re grateful to pull away, really, who needs a sense of belonging when you’ve got so much mangrit you’re practically sweating it? Not you for sure, you only got a little teary eyed. It’s not even your fault; by anyone’s standards you’ve had a really rough day.

Terezi’s wiping her eyes too, looking as exhausted as you feel, but she squares her shoulders.

“Well,” she says. “Now that’s over, we have business to attend to!” The way Sollux’s smirk widens gives you a deep sense of foreboding. You’re not sure you can take much more.

“Don’t look so worried,” Sollux says. “Karkat needs a babysitter anyway.”

“Does not,” Karkat says at the same time you say, “I’ll pass.”

“Hush,” Terezi flaps her hand at you. You wonder if it’s a troll thing or if Karkat and his friends are just weird. “He’s giving you a chance to... well,” her eyebrows waggle suggestively.

“Not needed,” Karkat tries to say. You try not to let it bother you.

“You’re going to have to talk about it eventually,” Terezi warns him. Karkat looks pissed; you feel lost. You almost ask, but Karkat shoots you a look that says you may not want to know.

“Okay, moving on,” Sollux prompts, glancing down at his phone with a grimace. “TZ, we may need backup for this, if we don’t want to get caught.”

Terezi frowns, biting her lip. “Do we have to?” You’re still lost.

“Not if she doesn’t answer my fucking texts,” Sollux returns. His sparks have calmed a considerable amount.

“First of all, please don’t tell me you’re planning to do what I think you are,” Karkat pleads, looking more haggard than ever.

“Sorry.” Sollux doesn’t look sorry at all; you’d judge his expression somewhere between vindictive and gleeful. It’s a fucking terror to behold. “It’s an emergency situation, and Vriska is the best at this stuff: the most irons in the fire and all that shit.” He glares down at his phone, which does nothing in response.

You recall your most recent conversation with John. While Terezi and Sollux bicker, you type a quick message into your phone and wait.

Sollux’s phone lights up with an angry buzz, and an expression of relief clouds his face. You give a mental nod to your best bro, who can be a dick but sometimes is a dick for the right causes.

“What exactly is the plan here?” Karkat asks, speaking slowly.

“Find a bitch: slap her,” Sollux tells him.

“I’m personally hoping for a motorcycle chase! Followed by getting shitfaced, of course, don’t wait up,” Terezi says.

“Whatever happened to law and justice?”Karkat pokes at her, but Terezi shrugs him off.

“All in due time, my favorite cherry disaster,” she silences him with a gentle flick to the nose.  Karkat does not look at all convinced.

“Come on KK,” Sollux says, typing furiously and not even looking up. “Trust us.”

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Sure, I’ll ‘trutht’ you, because that’s worked out so well before,” but his shoulders relax a little.

“Remember to bring back booze, don’t be selfish and keep all the shit for your own faces,” you say. Terezi winks at you.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she says.

They leave shortly after; without them around to distract you, it doesn’t take long for you and Karkat to begin arguing once more.

“You know, if you weren’t lying on my arm, I would be delighted to make you a sandwich,” you tell Karkat, who is still lying on your arm. “The whole nurse-patient thing really appeals to me; I’ll wear the outfit and everything.”

“I’m not moving,” Karkat tells the ceiling. “Until you make me a sandwich.”

“I can’t make you a sandwich,” you try to explain, for the second time, “because you’re lying on my arm.”

“Go away, I’m injured,” Karkat flexes, driving his spine further into your arm. “Sandwich.”

“Arm,” you tug at your arm, and finally, Karkat rolls off. “Was that so difficult?”

“Yes,” Karkat rolls again, right off the edge of the bed, taking most of your sheets with him. “ _Ow._ ”

“That was your own fault,” you get up and go around, all but lifting him to his feet. Karkat leans against you, your sheets still clutched around him. “I’m not carrying you again,” you warn him, and he straightens up.

“Sandwich,” he repeats, and you relent. He sits down at your dining room table, kept only because Rose would nag at you about being a barbarian if you tossed it. You begin to take out sandwich-making supplies while he watches.

“You know, I’m really fucking glad I didn’t wipe out on my face, those piercings were a pain in the ass to get, but losing them to force and asphalt would probably be a lot worse.” Karkat says, after a while, your sheets in a pile somewhere behind him.  The bandages around his ribs force him to sit up straighter than usual.

“Would you have gotten them redone if they had?” you ask, hunting around your pantry for bread. If he didn’t already have the snakebites you’d probably say he wasn’t the type.

“Fuck no, I think anyone would have trust issues if they had metal ripped from their flesh, and it’s not like these were my idea in the first place.”

You find some bagels and decide they’ll have to do.

“They weren’t?” You call back into the dining room, moving hunting for condiments.

“Sollux wanted to get his ears pierced when we came of age, but he’s such a grubfucking coward he didn’t want to go alone, and he didn’t want me to just stand there and gawk at him, so he made me get something done too. There was blackmail involved; it was a dark day for dignity.” Karkat grimaces.

You can’t help but laugh.

“Your friends are pretty damn weird,” you say, refusing to acknowledge that things comparably bad have happened to you. Your friends are perfectly normal if you don’t count just about all of them. Karkat’s grimace deepens.

“You don’t even know,” he groans, looking up as though seeking heavenly comfort. “You don’t even fucking know, I swear to god they all should’ve been culled for mental infirmities, but by some fucking lapse of drone security- yes okay I know drones aren’t a thing anymore, shut up- they’re still alive.”

“Terezi reminds me of my sister.” You locate a thing of peanut butter and some mustard. “These okay?” You hold them both up. Karkat nods.

“Not even natural selection can free us from the stupidity they’ve so deeply entrenched in the system.”  Karkat gets up from the table and wanders to you, pressing against your side like a cat seeking warmth. His eyes are a little wary when he says, “You know, my friends should meet yours.”

“John already knows Vriska,” you remind him, not really thinking. You’re considering the benefits of pickles over bananas. 

“I mean, we should like, introduce them.”

You blink, setting the pickles aside. “Like as a couple or something?” Karkat’s face turns red. “ _Oh._ So are we, uh,” you were not prepared for this. Karkat falling over in front of your door, covered in blood? Fine, just not this. “You know what, never mind.” You turn to your sandwich materials, because talking should stop, talking is the worst thing and you refuse to put up with it, sandwiches don’t talk and that’s why you love them.

“Okay, okay good.” To the side, Karkat looks just a little freaked out. “I mean, we’re not exactly- and Terezi likes you, that doesn’t happen all that much, and I don’t _know_ what we’re _doing,_ so if you want to talk about it or-,”

“Oh, that’s what Terezi was talking about.” You were right, you didn’t want to know.

“Yeah,” Karkat looks highly uncomfortable. “I mean, if you want to talk about it, I can-,” this time, it’s you that puts a hand over his mouth, still holding a thing of peanut butter.

“Now is not the time,” you tell him, meeting his eyes squarely. “For relationship talks. Never, is in fact, that time, but we’ll beat the shit out of that bridge when we’re held at gunpoint. I like you a lot; that’s as emotional as I’m getting tonight. Now is the time for sandwiches and cuddles and sleeping off the effects of, you know, being hit by a motorcycle.”

“You guys are never going to let that go, are you?” Karkat groans, noticeably relaxing. You almost kiss him but you think, especially after the conversation you decidedly didn’t have, it would be weird.

“There was a large metal object that came into contact with your squishy troll body at too many miles an hour; no, I don’t think I’m personally going to be forgetting anytime soon. Shit man, this is like, _Sharktopus_ levels of unforgettability.”

“Stop talking about it,” Karat tells your shoulder.

“Go back to bed, your majesty, I’ll bring you your fucking sandwich,” you say. He headbutts you gently in the side before gathering up your sheets and retreating to your room. You throw yourself into the business of sandwich-making, which thankfully doesn’t require much thought. When you have constructed a monstrosity of a sandwich and placed it on a plate for delivery, you join him.

Karkat’s either asleep or almost there, and he’s cute, really damn cute, curled up like a kitten. You can’t help yourself; you set the plate down and crawl into bed next to him, peeling the sheets away from his shoulders

“Cold,” Karkat says, or something like it. His voice is muffled by sheets.

You pretend you didn’t hear him and poke at his bandages, much more gentle than when you were trying to prove a point, checking for any additional breaks or things out of place. He slaps at your hand and you stop, choosing instead to gently drape yourself over him. Karkat doesn’t seem to mind.

The peaceful silence drags on, and you’re almost asleep. You’re warm, comfortable, and Karkat is safe. Then your phone buzzes. You don’t move.

“How much do you want to bet that’s Terezi texting me to let us know they’ve been arrested?” You say, without opening your eyes. Karkat makes a sound that’s part hiss, part growl, and part moan.

“Fuck; check it, just in case,” he says. “I think I’ll be able to scrounge up enough for bail.”

It’s an image message from Terezi, of an unfamiliar female troll. It’s dark, but the girl’s features are clearly visible. The text below it reads ‘4SK K4RK4T 1F TH1S 1S H3R’.

“Is this thy mighty conqueror?” you ask him, sitting up and passing your phone over to Karkat. He looks at it and frowns, worrying his bottom lip.

“I think so,” he says, tapping at your screen with his claws, daintily enough to be adorable.

“Tell her to call when she’s coming home so we can be decent for her arrival,” you say.

“No,” Karkat tosses your phone back to you, hitting you in the side, just in time for it to buzz again. This time, there’re two images attached.

In the first one, Terezi and Vriska are holding the Indigo girl by the arm; Terezi has a bloody nose and there’s a cut on Vriska’s cheek. Neither of them look as bad as the indigo girl, who has two swollen eyes and is bleeding copiously from the lip.

The next one is of Terezi making a duck face; in the background, the indigo is being propped up by two policemen.

“Well, fuck,” you say, handing your phone to Karkat. He flips through the images quickly, just before your phone starts ringing.

“Wh-,” he starts, but Terezi’s loud voice interrupts him.

“Hey Coolkid, do you like the taste of Justice?” Terezi’s voice, very much a cackle, is loud enough that you can hear it from feet away.

“What the fuck did you even do?” Karkat doesn’t give you an opportunity to reply.

“We turned her in,” this is Sollux’s voice. “Turns out she’s wanted for all sorts of shit.”

“ _And we didn’t do it in a way Gamzee would approve of!”_ Terezi cheers. The sound of a highfive makes Karkat wince and hold the phone further away from his ear.

The sound of a scuffle, a muted _give me the phone no fuck off,_ then: “I recognized her from one of the posters in the department I work with,” Terezi says.

“Didn’t they say anything about her looking like something the meowbeast dragged in?”

“Nope,” that, wonder of wonders, is _John._

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you say, before you can stop yourself. You always knew he was stupid, but somehow it hadn’t occurred to you that he’d accompany his weird troll girlfriend when she went to beat the shit out of someone.

“Hi Dave!” John laughs.

“Anyway,” Sollux says: there’s another scuffle, and then he continues. “We’re on our way back. Do you want a motorcycle?”

Karkat hangs up before the manic laughter can infect you both as well, but it’s too late.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s been three weeks since your accident and you’re about to throw yourself under a bus.

Under any other circumstances, you’d enjoy being fawned over, only Dave is back to doing that thing where he refuses actual good sex because he ‘doesn’t want to hurt you’ and it’s driving you completely batshit.

Okay, so your ribs aren’t as healed as you like to pretend, but they’re getting there. Sure, you still have some screaming dayterrors about all your blood on the pavement, and a gang of highbloods not even someone as horrifically thick panned as you can out-stubborn, but you’re coping. These are not the first dayterrors or broken ribs you’ve ever had, you aren’t delicate by a long shot. Also, you’re really, really horny.

But you have a plan. Unfortunately, this plan involves getting the drop on Dave and seducing him, which isn’t exactly a thing you are confident in your ability to accomplish. The seduction part would be easy; you can just look at Dave and he starts getting hard. You’re a sober, consenting adult fuckdammit, in a semi-monogamous maybe relationship with a hot human and you are not going to let yourself die of blue balls. You’ve made a plan to surprise him into semi-athletic sex that cannot possibly go wrong.

Which is why you’re currently stuck in Dave’s hall closet. He’d left to get you a sandwich from somewhere and you’d expected him to be right back, but it’s been an hour and the closet door is locked, you’re not even really sure how that happened.

So you do the only thing you can; you pull all the jackets off their pegs and make yourself a nest on the floor, and you wait. You play with your piercings, you pick at your nails even though Kanaya will probably yell at you for it later, you pick at your horns and your hair. You wait some more; you try to tell yourself it’ll be worth it if you can finally get laid but you’re quickly running out of patience. Some wild part of your thinksponge has seized on the idea that Dave is making you wait in the closet this long _on purpose_ and you spend a good five minutes plotting revenge before you realize how ridiculous that is.

Sighing, you lean your forehead against the cool wood and count. You get to three hundred and fifty seven before you finally hear the door open.

“Hey, Karkat, you’ll never guess who I ran into at Subway!” He laughs and you want to throttle him. And then kiss his corpse except ew, no, what the fuck self?

“Fuck you,” you hit the door once with your fist, and wait.

“Karkat?”

“I’m in here,” you call, trying to keep the agitation out of your voice.

“Uh, Karkat?”

“What.”

“I see, you’re uh, in the closet.” You can hear the barely contained mirth in his voice and are torn between laughing yourself and literally punching through his throat.

“Please just open the fucking door.”

“Sure, Karkles, I’ll let you out of the closet. That’s what you mean, right? The door to the closet.” He doesn’t manage to conceal his laughter this time. You lean closer to the ‘punch through his throat’ option. “I feel like this is a metaphor.”

“I’m going to kill you,” you say, as he opens the door.

The first thing he tells you after letting you out is that he brought you a sandwich too, so you forgive him for being cruel and insufferable. Then you’re torn between the seduction and the sandwich. In a sort of compromise, you grope him fondly and try to shove the sandwich into your mouth all at once. Dave squawks. You get about three quarters of the sandwich down your throat before you have to stop. You feel like Crabdad would’ve been proud.

“You are disgusting,” he says, pretending like he actually means to push you away. You let him, just long enough to get the rest of the sandwich down. Then it’s back to business.

“Karkat--” Dave starts, as you paw gently at his shirt.

“No, shut up,” you say, pulling it off him. Well, halfway pulling it off him, before you accidentally knock his shades off and he tries to bend down to grab them and you almost rip the fucking shirt in half.

“Motherfucker,” he says, amiably, as he loses his balance and lands on his ass in front of you. You eye him critically. “You could have just asked.”

“I could’ve,” you agree, before pulling your own shirt off. You do it slow, making sure to show off the flex of your stomach in the way you know makes Dave’s brain shut off. Then you shuck your jeans, stepping out of them with as much poise as you can summon despite your injuries. You are not wearing underwear and your bulge curls against your leg, half unsheathed. He stares at you, half in and half out of his shirt, face flushed.

Victory is sweet.

You cock one hip to the side, grinning. “What are you looking at, fuckwad?”

You think you hear one of the seams tear as Dave all but rips his shirt off. You help him out of his jeans, because he’s taking too goddamn long. Then you’re on his lap, grinding down, and everything is going perfectly according to plan for once in your fucking abrasion of a life.

You kiss him slowly, teeth gently grazing Dave’s bottom lip. You can feel him shift underneath you, groaning quietly.

“Are you okay?” he says, fingers trailing along your ribs.

“I’m _fine_ ,” you say, and kiss him again, harder. “Do you think I could do this if I wasn’t?”

“Nmm,” he says, which you take for agreement.

You run your claws through his hair, gently pulling at the roots, making him writhe. It’s hot, it’s so hot, how could you have let weeks pass without this? Past you is a ridiculous chump that you hate, no-kismesis or maybe a little--

“Karkat,” Dave gasps, digging his nails into your shoulders, abruptly slaughtering that train of thought. His thigh flexes under you, right against your bulge, and you’re half tempted to just stay like this, kissing and grinding, until you both come. Next time, you tell yourself, because this time, you have a goal.

“Dave,” you groan, nipping at his ear. “Can I...?”

“Fuck, whatever you want, please,” he says, straining to grind against your hip.

“Can I fuck you?”

He pauses, and your bloodpusher starts to act up, like maybe you did something wrong, maybe he doesn’t want--

“Fuck,” he says again, voice hoarse. “Fuck, Karkat, please.”

Thank fuck you were prepared for him to say yes. You have to pull away and reach back to your discarded jeans for the lube, and try not to come just from the sight of him. Apparently, your several-week-long dry spell hasn’t been hard for just you. Haha, hard, you’ve been spending way too much time listening to Dave lately.

“Are you just going to stare?” he says, voice still rough. He can’t take his eyes off your hands.

“Fuck you,” you say, automatic, trying to pretend the tips of your ears aren’t bright red at this point.

“I thought that was the goal here,” he says. “How do you want me? I mean, obviously, in every way, all the time, no one is immune to my charms, of course--”

You flip him onto his stomach in a move that you’ve tried before and, when you actually manage it smoothly, you’ve been told is pretty hot. You manage it smoothly.

_“Fuck_ ,” he says. You haven’t even touched him yet, not really.

“You could’ve just told me this was a thing for you,” you say, running your hands over his back. He pushes into your touch, and you can feel the muscles in his back shift and flex. You bite your lip, and your nook is dripping because holy fuck. Just-- holy fuck, Dave.

“I, uh,” he says, and you don’t even need to see his face to know he’s embarrassed. “I was getting around to it. Are you sure you’re--”

“If you ask me one more time if I’m okay, I’m going to get up, put my clothes back on, and leave,” you say in your best don’t-fucking-fuck-with-me-you-fuckface voice.

“Nevermind,” says Dave, voice going higher. You lean forward to press your mouth against the nape of his neck. With one hand, you uncap the lube.

“If you want,” he says, and you can feel him shivering. Shit, maybe he isn’t okay. Maybe you should stop. “You could just use a lot of lube, and go slow. I’m fine, please, just please.”

“Are you sure,” you say, although your bulge has just fully unsheathed at the idea. “Like, you said you hadn’t really been with a lot of trolls, are you sure you--”

“Yes, okay, if you want to have a talk about my weird thing about strange and unusual sex toys, wait until Rose comes to dinner, but I am pretty goddamn sure.”

“I--You know what, I actually don’t want to know. Shut up, stop talking.” You pour the lube over your fingers, coating them until it drips down your arm wrist and onto the floor. Your bulge has its own genetic material coating it, but you want to be safe. You want this to feel good.

You stroke yourself a few times, as Dave babbles some bullshit you’re not exactly paying attention to, before you push in.

“Ah, fuck,” Dave groans, and you struggle to hold yourself back. He’s tight and your bulge is definitely interested, squirming in a way that makes him gasp. Your genetic fluid drips from your nook down your thighs. This was such a good idea, you are so good at plans, and you are definitely ignoring the way your ribs twinge when you move. You googled it, this is normal, you’re completely fine.

You ease forward gradually, sometimes grabbing hold of your bulge to keep it from going faster than Dave is ready for.

When your hips are pressed flush against his ass, you finally let yourself relax. Dave has a hand buried in his own hair; you never thought you’d see him like this, groaning softly and pressing back against you, squirming in your arms. You feel like your skin is almost too hot, and you push closer to him, rolling your hips and trying to choke off the tiny sounds your throat is making.

“Fuck, right there, right there,” Dave groans, his entire body shuddering. You kiss at his neck, a little bit desperately, Everything is hot and tight and he’s so close to you, you can feel his pulse, and you know that he can feels yours and everything is too much and not enough all at once.

“Fuck--” you say.

“I’m gonna--” says Dave, and then he’s coming and you can feel him tightening around you and that’s it, you’re gone. You don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your life; everything is white and your bones feel like they’re melting.

Then you’re pressing your face into Dave’s back, bulge retracted, his sweating skin sticking to your hair, and you can hear his bloodpusher hammering against his ribs.

For a while, you just lie together on your floor, and you realize with startling, terrifying clarity, that despite all your aches and bruises and the tiny voice at the back of your head that screams you’re about to fuck up, you’re happy. You’re not fulfilled, not totally-- you don’t know what you want to do with your life, or what’s going to come after tonight, or if you and Dave are going to make it, but you do know that you want to try. It’s a relief. It feels, almost like a plan: just try.

You try not to cling any tighter for the realization, but it’s possible you don’t quite succeed. Many things are possible in this brave new world.

“Well,” he says. “That certainly happened.”

You hum in reply, and hope that you don’t sound as smug as you feel.

“Kinda unexpected though. Are your ribs--”

“Dave, holy shit, if I wasn’t fine I would have fucking said--

“No you wouldn’t have.”

“--Did you miss the entire point of that exercise?”

Dave levels himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with those fucking bullshit eyes, one eyebrow raised.

“Are you telling me,” he says, voice cool. “That you only fucked me to prove a point?”

It sounds kind of bad when he puts it like that.

“Fuck- uh- not.... exactly?”

He starts to laugh, and the light from the window sprawls across his face in a way that really shows off his faint freckles. It makes your stomach do weird things so you punch him, not too hard, in the side.

“Jesus Christ,” he says. “I will be thankful for that shitty job in that shitty bar from now until the day my shrivelled little heart finally collapses under the weight of its own sad existence.”

“What the fuck.”

He laughs harder; it’s more difficult than you would have thought to not join in. Finally, he subsides.

“I’m not complaining, I promise,” he says. “Please do that more often I really—it was – wow yes, please god I’d like an order of hot Karkat ass at all times, I need to be regularly supplied—but just.” He makes sure you’re looking at him when he continues. “Talk about it, first, maybe next time? Rose would probably tell me to say that, so, I’m saying that, it would probably be healthy and result in 100% fewer heart attacks and almost-black-eyes.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, considering Dave’s words. When he whimpers, you smirk.

“That’s doable,” you say eventually, sucking slightly. Dave whimpers again. This really shouldn’t be so easy. “But I wouldn’t have to if you’d just trust me when I say _I am actually fine_ , please feel free to sex me the fuck up whenever you want, my ribs are a lot stronger than they look and having my bulge up your ass isn’t going to break them.”

“If you’d said it exactly like that I probably would’ve started stripping there,” Dave says with a snicker.  “But in my defense? I did kind of, have to hold you up and wash the blood out of your hair, and there was a lot of it and that’s not really a thing I can easily forget, okay?”

You pull him into a bruising kiss, using his hair as leverage. You’re very glad he keeps it long.

“I’ve seen your scars, nooksniffer, I know you’ve seen worse,” you tell him in a low voice.

“Yeah, but it’s different when it’s on me than when it’s on someone I—you know—am doki for.”

Karkat blinks and sits up.

“What.”

“Doki for—okay, so Bro liked to watch anime a lot when I was a kid, it really isn’t my fault—“

“What does that even _mean_?”

“You know, that I,” Dave tries to say, moving his arm in a circular motion, as though that could nonverbally convey the words he was trying to speak. “I have heart palpitations about the sexing up and the living together. In a good way.”

“Is this the talk?” you say, before you can do basically anything except that.

“What?”

“The talk that we were not having, two weeks ago, you know, the whole thing.”

“Oh.” Dave’s face is bright red. It’s incredible. You had no idea a person could have that much blood in their face and live. Humans are an amazing species.

“Also,” you say, because you can’t believe you almost missed it. “ _Are_ we living together?”

“This is maybe a conversation I should have pants for,” he says. You fix him with one of your patented seriously-this-shit-is-trademarked glares.

“No,” you say, rocking your hips for emphasis. “We’re talking right here, and if it goes well, I’ll, uh.” For once in your festering popped blister of a life, words fail you. There isn’t really anything quite as boner-killing as trying to face up to your deep seated intimacy issues and relationship fears.

“Good,” says Dave. “Good plan. Positive reinforcement, I dig it.”

“I don’t think anyone actually says ‘I dig it’ anymore,” you say. “Not since, like, the eighties maybe.”

“I just said it, I’m--”

“So! Relationship!” You stare down at him. He stares up at you. There is a long pause during which you try not to calculate all the different ways you could flee the country. Changing your name is hard, when you’re a troll, but maybe you can talk to Eridan, he probably knows something.

“Oh, god,” you say, suddenly. Dave jumps; it almost feels nice. “You’re going to have to meet Eridan.” You can’t help it; you bust up laughing.

“Eridan?” he says. “Is that--”

“It’s going to be wonderful,” you choke out. “You’ll kill him. He won’t even-- this is going to be beautiful.”

“Well, if that’s true, I guess we have to date.”

“I guess you’re right. We have no choice. Is that-- human date-- or--”

“Let’s cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Honestly?” It looks a little like it’s killing him to say it. “I, uh, I don’t know. I don’t know how I’d feel about you hate fucking someone not-me, I don’t really know how that works. If that’s like, a thing on the table, at some point, we can just handle it then.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure how to feel. You think Dave can tell, because he swallows.

“I like you a whole lot, Karkat,” he says. “It’s kind of insane. First you’re amazingly hot, and then you keep popping into my life like you’re supposed to be there, and you’re funny as fuck and you’d probably get shot in the face and just get back up and beat the shit out of whoever dared underestimate your ferocious badasssitude. You’ve also totally been living here for weeks now, by the way. Terezi literally brought the last of your stuff over on Friday. She and Sollux have been talking about a like, a hivewarming? I said it was fine as long as there were no actual bees and then I got the weirdest bunch of snapchats, it was--”

“Alright, shut up,” you say, and there’s a look of genuine hurt on his face before you lean down and kiss him. He kisses back, one hand tangled in your hair, and you think maybe, just this once, you can imagine that things are going to be alright.

Then he pulls back and twists away from you, digging in his jeans.

“What are you doing.”

He pulls out his phone. “Making us facebook official.”

“Are you kidding me?” You sit up, and Dave looks up, frowning.

“Karkat,” he says, drawing out the A’s in his stupid southern drawl.

“Don’t talk to me, I’m going to get dressed and fling myself off the top of your building, I can’t believe I’m dating a complete loser.” You pick up your clothes and make your way to his ablution block. You should probably shower. And clean the floor, just in case. And then do laundry. Maybe you hadn’t planned quite as well as you thought.

You don’t have to worry though, because Dave does all the various cleaning, and then he joins you in the shower and things are significantly unclean for a little while.

You’ve both just gotten dressed, and are bickering amiably about whether Spy Kids or Ice Age is the worse series and if the troll versions are any different from human, which of course they are, and so out of all four which is the _worst_ worst, when the doorbell rings.

You look at each other.

“We can pretend we aren’t home,” says Dave, edging away from a nearby window. The doorbell rings again, and then again.

“Don’t be stupid,” you say, and you open the door.

“CONGRATS!” Terezi shrieks, and a handful of something colorful and sparkly explodes in your face. You think for a whole three seconds that she’s finally cracked and blinded you for good. Then you blink, and it’s fine, just tiny bits of paper.

“What the fuck?” You say, trying to ignore the way Dave seems to be having a seizure behind you, or maybe he’s laughing? You hope he chokes to death.

“YOU’RE TROLLBOOK OFFICIAL!” She elbows her way past you into the apartment, dragging a-- cape? banner? something made of too many colors-- and tackles Dave into a headlock.

“She won the bet,” says Sollux, trailing in behind her. “Also, I’d lock the door, if I were you.”

“Why?”

“I think she mass texted everyone we know.” He laughs, and tosses a half-empty bag of doritos onto your table. Dave, from underneath the furious attentions of your ex, looks up just in time to meet your eyes. You are very glad you’re both dressed, and even more glad to realize you’re not even a little bit jealous. Not of either of them.

You end up not locking the door. This is a mistake.

Terezi has not invited everyone you know, only those that live close enough to make it. You’re glad, because you realize you haven’t had the awkward “By the way I know the Empress, don’t panic” conversation with Dave yet. So Kanaya shows up, and Aradia, and Tavros, and Vriska (you try to kick her out and she nearly lights Sollux on fire), and Dave’s friend John, (palemate, whispers a treacherous part of your thinkpan), and an hour after the initial horde, two human girls you don’t recognize--but Dave obviously does--ring the doorbell, and you have to talk Dave out of crawling out the bedroom window and running.

They bring food, but it’s mostly shit so Terezi orders enough large pizzas to feed a cavern’s worth of grubs. Vriska tries to tip the human delivery driver with half a handful of something probably illegal, and then the human girl who looks a lot like Dave-- Rose, you think, you haven’t talked to her much after she gave you the “if you damage my brother I will make you wish your genetic mutation had ended your life as a child” speech-- gets a terrifying glimmer in her eye.

Someone puts on a movie. Someone else tries to play loud music, and is forcefully stopped. (You think it might have been Dave.)

It’s nice, disgustingly so, and it almost doesn’t matter that your bones hurt or that you have no idea what to do with your life, especially since you haven’t made it to class in weeks.

“So, this isn’t awful,” says Dave, sidling up to you in the kitchen when you make a desperate attempt to stop the others from drinking all of Dave’s soda. He sounds almost surprised. “Not yet, anyway, I don’t trust the way Rose keeps looking at evil pirate troll.”

“Vriska,” you say, without thinking, and then your bloodpusher nearly stops because you expect her to appear before you, winking and trilling you rang? ;;;;;;;;)

She doesn’t.

“Yeah, her, the evil one,” says Dave. He takes a soda from your hand and pops the tab. It’s the last one. Rest in fucking pieces, you think. “No offense, man, but your friends are psychotic.”

“Yeah,” you echo. “Although Terezi and Sollux are probably your friends by now, so I can blame them on you, there is only so much resigned irritation these shoulders can stand.”

“They were yours first, dude, you can’t fob them off on me because you can’t handle the fact that your friends are genuinely textbook psychotic. Rose will back me up here.”

“Whatever, watch me me do it, motherfucker,” you say, and you grab the soda from his hand and swallow about half before he stops you. He’s laughing, and you can imagine the skin around his eyes crinkling. It’s such a goddamn embarrassing thought you almost punch yourself in the face, something you havent done (on purpose) in over a sweep.

You’re going to have to get used to this, you think. To Dave. To not feeling completely miserable, to the weird flutterings of hope that you’re sure are going to burn you from the inside and then the medical bills will drain your savings and Dave won’t want to take responsibility and Terezi will kill herself laughing and Sollux will mysteriously vanish in a freak accident and you’ll end up dying in the gutter like you always knew you would. It is a terrible fate and you will face it like Troll Daniel Radcliffe in the last Harry Potter movie, because you are definitely that kind of person.

Something pokes you right in the center of your forehead and you blink. Dave is grinning at you, his very special shit-eating smile he saves just for you and anyone else unfortunate enough to know him.

“Sup?” he says.

You try to be annoyed, because when in doubt, but it’s just. It’s not. You’re not.

“This is going to be fun,” you allow, gesturing between the both of you. “Or it’s going to be horrible and we’re all going to die in spectacular ways.”

“Maybe both,” he says. “I mean, it’s been fun so far, and you almost died that one time, and I almost died a while back, so the precedent is set,” and you have to concede he has a point.

“I’m glad, either way, I guess,” you say. “Not to be even more overly fucking sentimental on this already pan-searingly sentimental eve, but I, too, like you a whole lot,

He kisses you instead of replying. Or as a reply. You kind of wish he’d said something, because he’s warm and solid and unexpectedly good at kissing, and you do not want him to stop despite the current ambiance in your (as in belonging to you AND Dave) apartment. You probably deserve this, in hindsight, revenge for your own misdeeds, et cetera.

He presses closer, kisses you again, and this entire situation is so fucking unlikely. There’s been too many hilariously improbable shenanigans leading up to this fucking moment and you know, _you fucking know_ , somehow, someone is fucking with you. You are kind of pleased despite yourself, it is truly disgusting.

You bite gently at Dave’s mouth, savoring his soft groan, and try to ignore the fact that your friends could walk in at literally any moment. They don’t make it easy.

Something shatters loudly in the next room. It might be a stack of plates; it might be the window.

“Holy shit,” says Dave, crushed against your mouth. Honestly, you’re a little surprised it took them this long.

“Where’s your broom,” you ask, pushing him back, trying not to make your reluctance too apparent. He takes it from its hiding place between the fridge and the pantry and hands it over.

“What are you--”

“The broom is not for cleaning. The broom is for hitting, until they clean it, and then it is for hitting until everyone is gone.”

“That sounds like the shittiest plan I’ve ever heard.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

You make for the doorway but before you get there you hear the unmistakable sound of a chainsaw revving. and immediately revise your initial plan. You don’t care about cleaning up, you just don’t want to deal with a body in your living room (it’s _yours_ now, also, and bloodstains would definitely not be in your remodeling plans if you even had any).

You glance at Dave; he looks like he’s having a difficult time choosing between laughter and breathing rapidly into a brown paper bag. You can relate.

“Want backup?” he asks, looking like he hopes you’ll say no.

“Yes,” you say, and you take pleasure in crushing his dreams.

You walk out together, a hurricane of justifiable rage and sardonic asides. You are very intimidating and clever and everyone is impressed, including you, as you chase them all down the stairs, their whooping and hollering definitely annoying the neighbors. You are laughing because this is ridiculous, and you are only wheezing a little. Dave is laughing louder like a total idiot.

Tomorrow you will eat cold leftover pizza in your underwear and Dave will probably put his hand on your butt. You will definitely argue about how hygienic it is not, in a very unsexy way, and he will make fun of how bad you are at yelling and eating at the same time and half-eaten pizza will go everywhere. It will be truly, unequivocally disgusting. He probably won’t mind, and there will be kissing, and every single one of your ancestors will disown you out of shame.

You’re looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW so I finally finished this, how neat right? I hope it was as good for you as it was for me, except for the whole two and a half year long waiting period when it was hell for us all. I hope you enjoyed this last chapter, and thanks for reading. Shout out to tumblr user manyblinkinglights, bc without them none of this would have ever been done. Seriously, they are the best. any & all mistakes are my fault


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